


Here and Now

by tonystarksicle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Beach!AU, Child Abuse, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Underage Drinking, also all the Erica Reyes appreciation, beach parties yay, let's play spot the Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarksicle/pseuds/tonystarksicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lahey expects this summer to be like any other: he'll divide his time between avoiding his father and working at Derek Hale's diner. But when Scott McCall and his best friend come to town, things start to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for child abuse, but nothing more graphic than the show. See the end for more notes.

Isaac has a love/hate relationship with summer.

He loves the weather, loves the sunlight and how the ocean is finally warm enough to swim in no matter the time of day. He loves the way the whole town seems to come to life once May rolls around. Beach towns seem to fall into somewhat of a slumber when there aren't tourists hauling their children from shop to shop or filling up the restaurants with their excited chatter and stories of days spent on the sand. Isaac loves the freedom summer offers and how much lighter he feels with the pressure of school and grades lifted from his shoulders.

But summer has its dark side, too. Without school taking up most of his time, Isaac spends increasingly more time in the house - just he and his dad. And the more time Isaac spends at home, the more things his dad finds to blame him for. Everything about the summer time seems to get under his dad's skin: the traffic around town increasing his commute time to work, the heat, the way the streets never seem to quiet down - even at night, kids run about with hopeful cries of summer spilling from their mouths.

And all of it, naturally, is Isaac's fault.

There is one ray of hope for the summertime, however, and its name is Laura's Diner. Since the start of sophomore year, Isaac has been working part time at the diner - picking up shifts after school, on weekends, whenever he could manage - but this summer he's managed to talk Derek into letting him work full time. Sure, Isaac is probably the only teenager for miles who looks forward to waking up at seven AM to go to work every from Monday to Saturday during his summer vacation, but anything beats the time he would otherwise spend taking the blame for every little thing his dad sees wrong with the world.

On his first official day working full time at the diner, two weeks into his summer break, Isaac arrives before anyone else with a smile on his face. When Derek pulls up out front he looks the closest to laughing as Isaac has ever seen him.

"Aiming for employee of the month?"

"Ha ha," Isaac replies sarcastically, stepping to the side of the doors to let Derek unlock the diner's entrance.

"I think this is the first time in two years you haven't showed up late."

"Just wanted to get an early start," he replies as casually as possible.

"Or maybe you just wanted to get out before your dad got up?" Derek glances back at him from over his shoulder as he steps through the door. "That bruise on your eye looks fresh."

Isaac follows Derek inside wordlessly and moves past him to start taking the chairs down from their upside-down positions atop the tables. He can feel Derek's eyes on him for another minute, but they've done this dance a thousand times before and soon Derek is moving around him, taking down chairs as well.

Isaac spends the time trying to lose himself in mindless work while also hoping Derek doesn't say anything else. He's well aware that everyone at Laura's has an idea of where the bruises and scrapes he seems to have an abundance of are coming from, but Derek and Erica are the only ones who ever mention anything to him. And even then, the words are scarce and far between, and Isaac would like to keep it that way, thanks. He's equipped to shoulder this alone. Or at least he's grown used to it.

It's another ten minutes before Erica and Boyd show up, each with starbucks coffee cups in tow. Isaac feels Derek's huff of a sigh before he hears it and before either of them have even given their greetings, Erica and Boyd have their coffees plucked from their hands.

"Derek, this coffee nazi attitude of yours is getting ridiculous," Erica snaps, her hands on her hips.

"No outside beverages," is Derek's solemn reply.

Boyd just rolls his eyes. "Whatever, wasn't my day to buy anyways." He laughs to himself as he makes his way back to the kitchen. "Morning, Isaac."

Isaac gives him a tight smile and hands Erica her name tag - which, for the last time, is not something he should have to keep track of. Erica tells him good morning and ruffles his hair before she shoots another death glare in Derek's direction and declares that she will be putting on a pot of coffee. They're ten minutes to opening when Lydia makes her entrance by giving everyone a collective hello while holding her cellphone a few inches from her ear. She mouths to Derek that it's her mother when he makes an abortive hand gesture and then proceeds to the bar where Erica is already pouring her a cup of coffee.

"Isaac," Erica calls. "I made you some, too." She's practically beaming as he takes the mug from her hands. He can't even pretend to not be appreciative so he gives her a smile in return and a mumbled thank you as he takes his first sip.

"I'm not really feeling the love, Er," Boyd interjects from where he's cleaning the order-up counter that opens up from the kitchen to the bar.

"I'm sorry, is it your first day working full time?" She snaps back.

"I'm just saying," he grins. "Not feeling the love."

 

****

Isaac is more than thrilled to discover that working full time is no different than his former part time job, only now he gets to take a longer lunch break and gets twice the amount of tips. Sure, he has to inhale concentrated amounts of maple syrup infected air and he may now be responsible for three meal crowds instead of just one or two, but having the whole day away from the house - away from his dad - isn't bad at all.

Isaac loves the tourists, too. He likes the idea that they only get to see his town at its finest time and that when he waits on them, it will be the first and last time they'll probably ever meet - once they finish their vacation, at least. He spends his entire first week of full time work chatting up husbands who are taking their wives on sun filled getaways, and mothers of children who can't get enough of the beach, and kids roughly his age who are just happy to have their allotted amount of freedom.

When Friday rolls around and Isaac gets his first real paycheck Derek even comments on how well Isaac seems to be taking to the summer crowd.

"You're good with them," Derek says. "The people, you're good at talking to them and keeping them happy."

Isaac shrugs. "People come here to get away. Why would you want to go on vacation somewhere everyone treats you like you're nothing special." Derek looks at him like he's seeing Isaac for the first time, but there's nothing in his face that's giving Isaac a negative reading.

Isaac comes home from his first week both exhausted and optimistic about his shifts on Sunday. He's so consumed in his thoughts about work that he doesn't even notice his dad sitting alone at the kitchen table when he first walks in. But his father has been a patient man and rather than waiting for Isaac to take notice of him, he clears his throat and watches as Isaac nearly jumps out of his skin by the doorway.

"Isaac," his father's voice travels down the hall. "What did I tell you to do with those dishes in the sink - two days ago?"

He closes his eyes and for a moment he thinks he might just save his dad the trouble and march down to the basement himself. God and he thought his dad might be happy to see him for once, just this once, since he's been working so hard, since he's been doing something his father could even define as useful.

Isaac walks into the kitchen and feels his legs growing heavier and heavier, dragging him down with each and every step. "I - I forgot," he tries. The words come out as a question and God, does Isaac hate the way he can feel his nails curling into his palms just to keep his hands from shaking.

"Oh, well if you just forgot, then I guess it's alright, is that what you're saying?" Isaac shakes his head, but keeps quiet. His father laughs, long and hard and wow, Isaac feels sick to his stomach. "Isaac, what would happen if I just forgot to go to work or pay the bills to keep this roof over your head, hmm? What would happen?"

Isaac doesn't know whether or not to answer, but the longer he goes without speaking, the longer his fathers eyes remain on him. Isaac feels like he's standing at the edge of a cliff when his dad stands up and begins stepping towards him.

"What would happen?" His dad shouts suddenly, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform shirt for the diner. "Why don't you tell me what would happen, Isaac?"

"I don't know," Isaac gasps, but his father's hands are pressed heavily against his throat.

"You don't know?" And there's that fake laugh again, right in Isaac's face. "Well, why don't we find out?"

Isaac barely has time to take a breath before his father is dragging him over to the basement door, still gripping at the collar of his shirt. He throws the door open with nearly the same force that he uses to slam Isaac's back up against the wall as he digs for a key in the back of his pocket. Isaac can her himself trying to wheeze out cries for mercy like "stop" and "wait" and "please" but he's so hopeless, so useless that he only makes himself more distressed. When his father shoves him backwards, pushes at Isaac's shoulders with hands used only for bruising, Isaac closes his eyes and tries to brace himself, but the fall down the stairs is every bit as painful and sharp as he remembers it to be.

The floor of the basement is nothing but concrete, but the few seconds Isaac gets to spend just lying with his back to the ground, unable to tell what hurts where, those are the few seconds he reminds himself that once he's locked up, once he's in that cramped up box: it's all over.

At least until the next time.

 

Isaac wakes up with the taste of blood in his mouth and a ringing in his ears, but they're both too familiar to be unsettling. When he pushes at the lid of the icebox and finds it to be open, he knows his father has gone to work. But Isaac also knows that it's Saturday and that his father will be home by noon at the latest and there's no way in hell Isaac is going to stick around waiting for that to happen.

He pulls himself from the icebox slowly and he swears he hears his elbow pop in a way that definitely can't be good. He's still wearing his work uniform shirt and his jeans now have a pretty sizable rip he realizes as he takes inventory of last night's damage. When he eases his way over to the bathroom, he catches sight of the stunning dark red scrape on the side of his jaw, courtesy of the stairs of course, and the even more dashing split lip front and center on his face. There's bits of blood drying on his chin and there are marks on his forehead that look a lot like dirt stains. He sighs to himself because really, who else is going to hear him?

Isaac doesn't stay long in the bathroom because he can't think about last night. It's all his fault anyways - the dishes, his father getting upset with him, everything. What was he thinking when he asked Derek to let him on full time? Did he really believe if just kept himself away from home long enough that his dad would just forget about what a shitty son he had to use as a blame outlet for every problem that came along? Isaac breathes in and his chest burns and so do his eyes and no, he's not going to cry about it. He's going to get the hell out, that's what he's going to do.

He doesn't even bother changing his clothes, doesn't see the use in it when he's already wearing his work clothes. It's a ten minute walk from his house to the diner and Isaac spends the entire duration of it dodging glances from people passing by and doing his best to keep from chewing at the wound on his lip.

When he pulls open the doors to the diner, the lunch crowd is so heavy that no one seems to pay him any attention. That is until Erica comes out of the kitchen and nearly does a double take. She just stares at him with wide eyes like she's looking at a ghost or something that's not really there, but before Isaac can say anything to her, he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"Isaac," Derek says, "Today's your day off."

"Well it's the weekend," he tries. "I figured you'd be swamped."

Derek blinks. "And you think you can work looking like this?"

Isaac doesn't know what to say. God, he must look like a wreck. He runs his hands uselessly through his hair and glances back at Erica, who is still eyeing him nervously from the kitchen. His mouth feels dry suddenly, lacking the right words to say.

When he swallows dryly, he manages to croak out a whispered, "Please?"

Derek for a moment almost looks shaken by the words, but he schools his expression back to his normal scowl too quickly for Isaac to really tell. There's another minute as Derek surveys the crowd and glances towards the bathrooms before he finally sighs and says, "Just clean yourself up first."

Isaac smiles against his own will and thanks Derek a little too enthusiastically before he dashes back to the bathroom. Having left his phone at home, Isaac takes notice of the clock above the stalls telling him that it's almost eleven. He wonders if his dad will care whether or not he went into work today. He wonders if his dad will even notice.

Maybe if you were even the slightest bit useful, he would notice. Maybe if you were smarter or more responsible. Maybe if you remembered to do anything he goddamn asked you to do….

Isaac stares at his face in the mirror. He looks almost hollow. Like a scarecrow covered in blotches and bruises of all assorted colors. He's a paint-by-numbers gone terribly wrong.

The water from one of the only two sinks in the men's room doesn't have any range in temperature despite its deceiving red and blue knobs, but Isaac could really care less. He soaks a handful of the flimsy, brown paper towels in the sink and starts by doing damage control on his chin. The blood is  long dried by now which only makes it harder to get out, but he persists simply because he has no other options. Maybe he should have showered. He would have had to answer to his dad about where he was going, but he had no right to just come into work looking like he was hit by a car. Derek wasn't his babysitter, after all.

Isaac is so determined in scrubbing at his chin with the paper towels that he doesn't even look up when the bathroom door opens. The room isn't very big, but all three stalls and the urinals are vacant so Isaac doesn't feel too terrible about the minimal space he's occupying. Whoever it is can just move right past him and carry on with whatever they came in to do.

However, the footsteps Isaac hears shuffling in across the bathroom floor stop suddenly before they reach the stalls. Isaac thinks for a second that it might be Derek or Boyd, or maybe even Erica sneaking in to check on him. But then a voice he most definitely does not recognize says, "You should really put peroxide on that or something."

Isaac freezes, actually freezes - his shoulders seize up and he has to suck in a pretty decent amount of air to get himself going again. When the initial startling wears off after a few seconds, he turns around to find himself just a few feet away from the biggest pair of brown eyes he's ever seen. And they're attached to a boy. About his age. Who is smiling. At him.

There is a boy with big puppy dog eyes smiling at Isaac like there's nothing in the world but sunshine. He has this mop of dark hair on his head, curly at the ends, and a crooked jaw that only makes his smile more… adorable if anything. He is tall, but probably still a full head shorter than Isaac. He's wearing a backpack and has a white plastic box in his hands with a little red cross. Isaac is simultaneously terrified and awestriken.

Then he remembers that Brown Eyes actually said something to him and Isaac has yet to give him a reply and wow, it's like all of a sudden he can't even remember his own name let alone what he's supposed to say in response.

"I um… I have a first aid kit," Brown Eyes tells him. "It's kind of stupid, but my mom always makes me carry one around. She's a nurse, so she's all about the Better Safe Than Sorry policy." And then he smiles again, like he's embarrassed about something. Isaac is just confused about why this stranger is being nice when there's no food or service in it for him.

Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. "Yeah… that, um… makes sense." Wow. Great. Awesome conversational skills you've got there, Lahey. Isaac has to restrain himself from just turning away from the situation all together because really, he can't handle another minute of plain embarrassment.

But Brown Eyes just keeps smiling and he nods his head a few times before he holds up the first aid kit. "Anyways, you're not gonna get the blood out with just water. Or maybe you are, I don't know, but if you wanted some help…"

Isaac blinks at him and waits for the catch, but Brown Eyes has nothing more to say. His smile is really doing funny things to Isaac's stomach. It's unsettling, really. There's a list whizzing through Isaac's head filled with reasons why he shouldn't ask for help from this unnamed guy sharing space with him in the bathroom, and most of the reasons are along the lines of "you can do this alone". But the more he stares at the stupid smile, the more he rationalizes the company. The faster he gets the blood out, the faster he can go back to work - that's what he tells himself when he says to Brown Eyes, "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

The three words earn Isaac a full out grin, with bright teeth and the subtlest dimples he's ever seen. He'll be lucky if he can survive this afternoon, let alone keep himself from staring.

Isaac holds out his hand, expecting to be given the first aid kit and guided through the steps of applying whatever it is he needs, but Brown Eyes just hands him a small pack of cotton balls and pushes him back gently until he's sitting on the small counter space between the two sinks. Brown eyes apologizes with a small quirk of his lips and Isaac realizes he must look way too surprised at the physical contact than should be normal.

Brown eyes works silently for a few minutes, his fingers awkwardly fumbling around with the cotton balls and dousing them with peroxide before wiping them across Isaac's chin with gentle but heavy strokes.

"Did you lose a fight?" He asks, the used cotton balls piling up beside Isaac's leg. Brown eyes is laughing lightly, just barely from underneath his breath, but Isaac recognizes the anxiousness underlying in his voice. He wants to say that this guy he doesn't even know is concerned for him, but Isaac isn't that naive.

"You should see the other guy," Isaac deadpans. He used to make that joke on a regular basis, about two years back when he was just starting at Laura's. Derek used to see the bruises on his face and grumble at him about being stupid and letting his anger get out of control and Lydia would leave him with snide comments and roll her eyes when Isaac showed up to work with fresh scrapes.

That is, until everyone picked up on the pattern.

"I took a lacrosse stick to the eye one time," Brown Eyes tells him while unnecessarily laying some sort of skin colored bandage over the scrape on the side of his jaw. "The bruise came in as green. My friend Stiles, he laughed about it for weeks."

Isaac raises an eyebrow. "That's nothing," he says with mock pride, rolling up the end of his jeans to reveal a faded, snake-like scar running six inches inches down his leg. "I jumped a barb wired fence once. Thirteen stitches."

Brown Eyes pulls a face, but then smirks up at Isaac with something that looks like challenge. He pulls up his shirt sleeve to give Isaac a look at his shoulder which is canvased by a series of what he can only guess to be teeth marks. The wounds almost look like tiny pink bullet holes.

"Dog bite," he explains. "From one of the animals at the veterinary office I work in. It happened a little less than a month ago. It was sort of my fault, though."

"How was getting bitten by a dog your fault?"

"I, um, let a pretty vocal pitbull out of its cage because I mistook his aggression as a plea for affection."

Isaac is laughing before he realizes it, shaking his head as Brown Eyes gives him a sheepish smile and rolls back down the sleeve to his shirt. He makes some comment about how every other animal loves him and that this one was just having an off day. To which Isaac sarcastically tells him, "Right, of course."

They fall back into silence again, but this time Brown Eyes is throwing out the blood stained cotton balls and trading them out for paper towels, which he runs under the water before wiping off Isaac's chin a final time.

"So you work here?" He asks, gesturing towards Isaac's shirt, which is blood stained, but it camouflages pretty well into the red fabric. He's glad he's still wearing this shirt instead of one of the flashier uniform pieces that Erica so often favors. This one simply reads "Laura's" in big white letters with a surfboard underlining it.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be waiting tables right now."

"Oh. Am I holding you back?"

"No, my boss told me to clean up in here, I'm not even technically working. Don't worry about it."

Brown Eyes looks like he's not really buying it, but he keeps moving around the tight bathroom space, throwing away the paper towels and packing the travel sized first aid kit back up. Isaac watches him dump some of the box's contents into his backpack, watches his eyes flick downwards. He has spots on his neck and under his chin and his hair is sticking up now at the top. Isaac wants to run his fingers through that mess of hair, wants to see the different lights that he can make shine through those eyes.

Maybe he should ask him questions, keep the conversation going. Where are you from, he could ask because this boy clearly hasn't been in town long. Isaac would have remembered seeing him before. Tell me more about the veterinarian office, he could say. Or, tell me more about your friend Stiles. What kind of name is Stiles anyways? And, hey, how did you like your breakfast? And, wow, isn't the weather nice? And, what's your name?

But Isaac doesn't say anything, just sits on the counter in between the sinks reminding himself of the million and a half reasons why this boy in front of him wants to be nothing more than strangers when it comes to Isaac. Strangers. Not friends. Not anything.

When Brown Eyes looks up from the first aid kit, he meets Isaac's stare and oh, crap, staring, right. Brown Eyes doesn't seem phased by it, though. He smiles at Isaac, close lipped and warm and inviting and dangerous all at once.

"I don't know what to do for your eye," he says apologetically. Isaac wasn't even aware there was still a bruise there.

"It's like a week old," Isaac offers.

Brown Eyes furrows his eyebrows before giving Isaac a look of mock suspicion. "You're not in some sort of fight club are you?"

"Do you think I'd tell you if I was?"

It's a dumb joke but Isaac gets a laugh out of him despite it.

"I guess not. It would be a pretty good story, though."

"Yeah," Isaac breathes out and is surprised to hear the quiet chuckle that comes out, too.

There's a beat, a moment before Brown Eyes puts his first aid kit back into his backpack when they're just looking at each other, words unspoken hanging in thin air. Isaac almost feels self conscious under the stare. Really, he must still look like a mess and he's sure the bandaid on his chin is making him look like a five year old after a rollerblading incident.

When Brown Eyes starts moving again, Isaac hops off the counter and steps over to the far wall.

"Well, um," he says. "I'm pretty sure there won't be any pancakes left when I get back to the table, but my friend is… waiting for me, so…" He smiles and gestures to the door, all very polite and kind. Isaac wants to throw up.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Brown Eyes huffs. "Don't be. Dude, it's not every day you get to meet a real UFC champion."

Isaac gives him a crooked grin and shakes his head. "Right. Are you're a real Steve Irwin yourself, with the animal related wound and all."

"Steve Irwin," Brown Eyes laughs. He's standing by the door with his grip on the handle and Isaac is doing his very best to memorize his smile. "I like the sound of that. I'm gonna make people call me Steve from now on."

Isaac smiles because he doesn't really understand how sunshine has rolled itself into a person, but he's in no position to complain.

"Well, what do they usually call you?"

Brown Eyes' dimples come out again when he looks up at Isaac. "Scott."

Isaac nods, trying his best not to look like an over giddy kid on Christmas morning. "I'm Isaac."

Brown Eyes - or, scratch that, _Scott_ smiles at the ground. "Well, then it was nice meeting you, Isaac."

"Yeah, you too, Scott." Isaac chews at the edge of his lip, trying on the taste of the word on his tongue before he tells Scott, "And um… thanks."

Scott just shoots him one last dimple-filled smile and a short wave, and then he's gone - out the door and out of Isaac's life. Tourists come and go. That's always been one of Isaac's favorite things, but… but what if he didn't want someone to go. What if maybe he could have made a friend or made a connection with someone.

It's ridiculous to think, he tells himself, but Isaac didn't mind having Scott's warm and clumsy fingers cleaning him up in the cramped diner bathroom. He wants to shake the thought off, have it physically removed, so he rinses his hands under the sink one final time and then runs his wet hands through his hair. When he turns around, bracing himself for just one afternoon and one evening shift, Scott is standing by the door again, staring at Isaac like he's forgotten something.

"This is really stupid," Scott says, "and you can totally, absolutely, three hundred percent of the way say no, but there's sort of this party. It's tomorrow tonight and it's on the beach and my friend Stiles, his cousin is throwing it so it's sort of not optional for me and…" Here is where Scott gives him the dorkiest smile of all time and nope, there is no way Isaac will ever admit to how adorable he finds it. "And I sort of think it would suck a lot less if you were there."

Isaac stares at Scott, once again just waiting for the catch because there's no way in hell that this funny, unfairly cute, too kind for his own good guy just asked him to a party. Isaac hasn't been to a real party since freshman year and, outside of Derek, Erica, Boyd, and Lydia, he hasn't really hung out with anyone since roughly that time as well. He would be totally outside of his social element if he agreed to go with Scott, but... but maybe it wouldn't matter so much. Maybe he could just stand by Scott for the night and exchange dumb jokes with him while they watched the waves or something. It could even maybe be like a date type thing.

That is what’s happening, isn’t it?

"A party?” Isaac asks. His stomach is honest-to-God doing flips.

Scott’s smile falters suddenly and Isaac wonders how unsure he really sounded just then. “It’s not really a big deal,” he reassures. “It’s just this thing to like kick off the summer or whatever. I think they’re having it off near the pier directly across the beach from Five Guys? There’s supposed to be a bonfire and hot dogs.” Scott shrugs and Isaac knows he’s doing his best to keep the pressure off. To be honest, Isaac doesn’t know how he’s going to survive a whole night of Scott being nice to him and giving him smiles so sweet they could rot Isaac’s teeth.

“I’d love to come,” Isaac tells him finally.

“Yeah?” Scott asks. “It starts around seven, I think. So I guess I’ll just look for you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Isaac can feel his cheeks heating up as he meets Scott’s eyes and matches his smile with one of his own. When Scott turns again to head out the bathroom door, Isaac says, "I'll see you there, Scott."

Scott beams back through the open door. "I'm counting on it."

 

"What do you mean you sort of got asked out on a date?"

Erica stands on the other side of the bar - which Isaac is supposed to be wiping down - with her hands on her hips, staring pointedly at him. The evening shift had crept along slowly and since Isaac was in too much of a good mood to go home, he offered to help Derek close up.

"I mean," Isaac sighs, "I don't know if it's a date or not. He just - he invited me to this party."

"And that's it?"

He can feel his face heating up before he even starts speaking. "He told me the night would probably suck less if I was there."

Erica gushes. "Awww!" She's just leaning over the bar to try and ruffle Isaac's hair when Derek comes striding out of the supply room.

"What's with all the noise?" He mumbles gruffly.

"Isaac's got a booooyfriend," Erica sings.

Isaac rolls his eyes, but he can feel his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of pink. Fucking Erica.

"What?" Derek asks. He's pulling his best I Don't Give a Shit face, but Isaac can see the hint of amusement playing around his eyes.

"There's just this beach party thing that I got invited to," Isaac explains as casually as possible.

However it's all blown to hell when Erica adds, again in that sing-song voice, "By a cute boy." Derek smirks to himself as he starts picking up the last of the discarded mugs, but says nothing. Erica grabs Isaac’s arm and tugs at his sleeve. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“What?” Isaac shakes his head at her like she’s just suggested a third world war. “Why would I want you to do that?”

“For moral support,” she explains as if Isaac can’t reach her intellectual level. “What are you going to do? Just show up and wander through a group of strangers until you find him?”

“It’s not like a big thing. I don’t think there’s going to be that many people.”

“Well, you don’t know that.”

Isaac chews at his lip because, hey, that’s a valid point. Scott may have just been underselling it or maybe he didn’t really know how much of a turn out there would be.

“You’re not making it better, Erica,” Derek grunts at her. She merely rolls her eyes.

“Well, what do you think I should do?” Isaac asks, turning in Derek’s direction. It’s not really something he’s ever said out loud, and it’s not something he thinks about often, but Derek is almost sortorkindof like Isaac’s older brother. Not like his actual older brother, but Derek’s always giving Isaac advice - never really smiling or seeming happy about it, but he gives it nonetheless. And there have been times over the past two years when Derek has let Isaac hide out as his apartment after school when his dad was in a particularly bad mood, or when Isaac miserably failed a math test.

Derek raises his eyebrows, like he’s surprised Isaac has asked. “What do you want to do?”

Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. Really what he wants to do is come up with something funny enough to say to Scott so he can hear his laugh again. He wants to talk to Scott again, alone, and maybe just enjoy the warmth he radiates. But he can’t say that.

Instead he sighs, looks back at Erica and says, “Moral support it is.”

 

Isaac manages to make it through Saturday night and all of his Sunday morning shift without really saying a word to anyone. Although, Boyd and Lydia have plenty to say to him once Erica breaks the news about Scott’s party. Lydia actually smiles at him, like a full out, no harm intended smile. Isaac is getting pretty tired of having his hair ruffled like he’s five-years-old and just attended his first day of kindergarten, but other than that the day carries on without a hitch. He spends his lunch break with Derek in the back of the kitchen and Boyd “sneaks” chocolate milkshakes to Isaac and Erica afterwards.

Isaac is lying, however, if he doesn’t admit that he spends a majority of his day watching the clock, counting down the minutes until Derek lets him off to go see Scott. It’s ridiculous, maybe, but he hasn’t been this excited or this nervous for something in a long time. Actually, he’s never been this excited or nervous about anything.

They’re about an hour into the dinner crowd and the sun is nearly set when Derek puts his hand on Isaac’s shoulder to stop him from going into the kitchen.

“Did you tell your dad about tonight?”

“I think as long as I’m back by curfew he shouldn’t care,” Isaac tells him solemnly. Derek nods and Isaac notices he’s not wearing his usual work shirt, but a casual outfit of a leather jacket and a dark tee shirt instead. “Going somewhere?”

Derek looks off to the side, like his answer is physically straining him. “I’m not just going to let Erica feed you to the wolves.”

Isaac doesn’t even fight the stupid grin that worms its way out.

 

After leaving Boyd and Lydia with a pretty peaceful crowd, Derek, Erica, and Isaac embark on their journey across the boardwalk. Erica, much like Derek, has ditched her uniform for a white tank top and a short denim skirt. She spends most of the walk telling Isaac what he should say when he introduces them, as if Isaac has never spoken to another human being before. He tries to point out that out of the three of them, he is the only who actually knows Scott, but Erica disregards this fact. Derek, respectively, has traded his I Couldn’t Care Less face for the ever-popular You Better Be Grateful expression. The only thing he’s really said since they left is, “I’m keeping you at a two beer limit.” Which was, needless to say, directed at Erica.

By the time they reach the beach entrance across from Five Guy’s it’s almost seven thirty and Isaac’s stomach is doing that funny flipping thing again. Erica stands on her tiptoes and peeks over the dunes. She smacks Isaac’s arm and tells him she can see a fire pit, but he’s not listening because he doesn’t think he can hold a conversation without throwing up. He’s actually letting Derek and Erica lead the way over the extended boardwalk and onto the sand now while his mind reels and wow, can nobody else hear his heart doing that weird skipping thing. That could be a serious medical condition.

Derek isn’t the type to say “you’re going to be okay” or to utter any kind of reassurance, but once the small group of people around the fire pit start coming into view, he turns around and just claps a hand on Isaac’s shoulder before pulling him up to be next to them instead of behind. Isaac appreciates the gesture, but can’t say it now.

There’s thirty something people around the fire pit and the various coolers lodged in the sand. And there’s even a few stragglers enjoying the last sliver of sunlight at the water’s edge. The minute they walk up, a boy about Isaac’s age with short hair that only seems to be growing upwards comes up to meet them. He’s wearing a grin that says he knows exactly who they are.

“Due to the fact that I don’t know who you are and you have - let me quote here - ‘super curly hair and a perfect jaw’ I’m just going to assume that you’re Isaac.”

Isaac’s stuck in a state of blushing and this stupid half pleased, half embarrassed grin on his face. “I, um, yeah I’m Isaac,” he manages.

“Stiles.” He grins back at Isaac and then glances at Erica and Derek - who is sort of staring Stiles down with something Isaac can’t name. It clearly doesn’t bother Stiles, though, because he just stares back with this look on his face like he’s just had a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. It’s gone as quickly as it came and soon Stiles is being called back to a small group of people around the fire pit. “Um... I’ll get you guys some drinks.” After glancing back at Derek again, Stiles motions for Isaac to come with him. “Scott’s over here,” he explains.

Erica gives Isaac a tiny thumbs up, but Derek is too busy glancing between the horizon and Stiles to pay him any attention. Whatever. That’s fine. But if Derek gets him kicked off of this beach for excessive-ogling, Isaac is going to give him a piece of his mind. Or something.

Isaac follows Stiles past a small group of guys, one of which makes him roll his eyes in an over the top fashion that reminds Isaac of Lydia. Stiles talks the whole time they walk - past the fire pit, around a group of twenty-somethings roasting hot dogs, swerving through a couple of coolers. He talks about his cousin, Danny, who is apparently hosting this ordeal because of his permit to have a fire pit on the beach. He talks about school, which he has a lot of opinions about, and lacrosse. Stiles also tells Isaac that he and Scott attend Beacon Hills High School, which is something Isaac was completely unaware of. Beacon Hills is a good four hour drive from the beach, straight north and then east. But according to Stiles, he and Scott are at the beach for the entire summer.

Stiles also asks Isaac a lot of questions in a short amount of time - which actually ends up being extended when Stiles makes them stop so he can refill his drink and hand Isaac a beer - and he feels sort of like he’s being interrogated. But he answers all of the questions nonetheless. He tells Stiles he’s a rising senior just like he and Scott, and that he works at Laura’s Diner, and that Derek is his boss and Erica is a fellow member of the wait staff. Isaac also finds himself wondering what Scott said to Stiles about him. He wonders if Stiles was just joking about the “perfect jaw” thing.

Stiles stops walking abruptly once they come to a stack of three coolers on top of one another with some sort of boombox type system playing music wobbling on top of it. Beside the coolers stands a boy - tall, tan, watching the others - and someone who makes Isaac’s heart start beating erratically again.

Scott catches sight of Isaac and immediately comes over to where he and Stiles are standing. He’s smiling and Isaac knows he must be too and yeah, he’s an idiot for ever thinking coming might be a bad idea.

“You came,” Scott beams.

“Well,” Isaac says, rubbing at his chin out of habit, “you didn’t really give me a choice when you said there were going to be hot dogs.”

“I’ll leave you two crazy kids to it, then,” Stiles says, almost sarcastically, glancing between them with a sly grin on his face. He calls to the boy by the boombox - Danny, as it turns out - and they start heading back towards Erica and Derek.

Scott follows Isaac’s line of sight when Danny and Stiles walk away and asks, “Are those your friends over there?”

“Uh, yeah, kind of.” Isaac suddenly feels guilty for letting Erica and Derek come. Maybe Scott will think Isaac thought he was going to have a bad time with him and needed other people to fall back on. “They wanted to come and I thought since you said it wasn’t really a big thing that it would be okay, but if it’s not...”

“No, it’s totally cool,” Scott tells him and there’s nothing but sincerity in his voice. “We can hang out with them if you want or... we could maybe take a walk.”

Scott’s eyes are all lit up when he looks up at Isaac and the sun and stars may both be hiding for now, but he is  by far putting them to shame.

“A walk sounds great,” Isaac says and it’s really the absolute truth. “Trust me, I see enough of them anyways.”

Scott laughs and they head down the sand, towards the water. The sky is turning a deep blue with every passing minute and the temperature is dropping down to what feels like Spring again. Scott tells Isaac about his day and what he’s done at the beach so far. He talks about how Stiles’ bike was stolen yesterday outside the diner, to which Isaac claims is totally his fault then. Scott smirks and tells him he would bring it up with the manager he saw when he was eating there, but the guy was built like a house. Isaac tells him that the guy he’s talking about is Derek, or as he explains to Scott, the guy whose eyes are now attached to Stiles.

“Honestly,” Scott says. “I don’t think Stiles minds at all.”

They walk a little ways up the shore while Isaac asks Scott what Beacon Hills is like - a question which Scott, much like Stiles, has a lot to answer with. Scott, surprisingly enough, likes school. He says he likes learning, but sometimes the teachers intimidate him and all the work piles up and then he, like anybody else, feels like he’s losing his mind. He had a teach junior year for economics who was apparently out to get him, but things were fine otherwise. Scott also talks about how he chipped a tooth the one game he had to play goalie in lacrosse, something which earned him a long lecture from his mom about proper safety equipment.

“You don’t want to bust up your face,” Isaac offers. “You’ll screw up your modeling career.”

Scott laughs as he exhales. “Right. Of course,” he replies jokingly.

“It sounds like a nightmare, though.”

“What, lacrosse?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s essentially just hockey on a field, right?”

“It’s exactly that,” Scott smiles, lopsided this time. He shrugs. “It’s not that bad. You’d probably like it if you tried it. Maybe I’ll teach you sometime."

Isaac nods and bites his lip. "I'd be up for it," he tells Scott, trying not to gush over the fact that Scott practically suggested they would be seeing more of each other in the future without making a big deal about it.

Scott nods too then and stares out over the water. "Must be nice," he says, "living here year round."

Isaac sighs. "It's not really all it's cracked up to be. Things usually only get interesting once the tourists start rolling through."

Scott smiles to himself and Isaac’s trying not to stare, he really is, but he only has the beer in his hand to distract himself with and Scott’s running his fingers through his hair and he shouldn’t look as good as he does. Scott suggests that they walk onto one of the piers, so Isaac walks with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“They cleaned up this part of the beach a few years ago,” Isaac tells him. “There was this big campaign to make things look better so that more people from out of town would want to come visit. The committee wanted to tear down some of the piers and build new ones because apparently the wood was starting to rot and they were too far out. They had fundraisers and everything, but my brother and a few of his friends set out camp out here and had some crazy petition to stop them because they thought the piers were special.” Isaac shakes his head, huffs a laugh from under his breath. He sits down beside Scott at the edge of the pier, both of their legs hanging over the edge, just hovering over the water. “But really, they just wanted to come up here to get high and drink.”

Scott’s looking at him with this crooked smile, all bright eyes barely-there laugh lines. “Did it work?”

“Actually yeah,” Isaac grins. “The night the petition went through, they had this big blowout party up here.”

“Your brother sounds cool,” Scott says.

Isaac rubs the back of his neck. “He um... yeah he was.” He’s looking out over the water now because he hates doing that to people. He hates just layering on the truth about Camden or his mother. Erica had looked as if she wanted to cry when Isaac told her. Two years later and he was still tip toeing around the subject of his family at the diner.

Beside him, Scott says quietly, “I’m sorry.” When Isaac doesn’t turn back to him, Scott moves his hand over until it’s resting on top of Isaac’s, his fingers squeezing gently. Isaac is surprised at how warm Scott’s skin feels against his. Like a summer breeze hitting him at full force.

“It’s fine,” Isaac finally replies. “It happened a few years ago, so.” He turns to face Scott to find a pair of apologetic, welcoming brown eyes staring up at him. There’s something on his face that says all he wants to do is make everything okay and while that terrifies Isaac, it’s also something he’s never seen before. And it’s something he definitely can’t resist. So he tells Scott more. “He was in the army,” he explains. “He enlisted after high school. Said it was because he couldn’t get a swimming scholarship, but really I think he just... wanted to get away or piss off my dad, or maybe both. It worked, whatever it was.” Isaac hesitates, runs his free hand through his hair again. There’s a burning in his throat, but Scott is patient with him and keeps rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of Isaac’s hand. “They say he was ‘killed in combat’. There was some... attack plan gone horribly wrong, but that’s all they told us. They sent home a bag of his things, though, so I have...” Isaac reaches under the fabric of his work shirt and pulls the loose hanging chains from around his neck. He holds them in his hand, extended, until Scott takes them.

Isaac says, “They’re his dog tags. My dad doesn’t really know I have them, but it’s been four years and he hasn’t asked so....” He watches Scott turn them over in his hand. He holds them like they’re something sacred, something he doesn’t want to break. “They were supposed to be buried with his other things.”

Scott looks up from his hands and fixes his eyes on Isaac. There’s a heaviness to his gaze and Isaac feels a little weighted by it. Scott says, “I’m sorry,” again, but this time much stronger, looking straight into Isaac’s eyes.

“Don’t be,” Isaac tells him, but his voice is quieter now.

Scott puts the dog tags back in Isaac’s hand carefully, his eyebrows drawn together as he casts his eyes downwards.

“Is it just you and your parents?” Scott asks.

Isaac doesn’t answer the question, just loops the dog tags back around his neck and lets a silence settle between them. Because there is no way he’s going to pile more of his stupid problems onto Scott. He doesn’t deserve that. And it’s definitely not why he asked Isaac to the party. When Scott looks up again, Isaac stands up suddenly.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“What?”

Scott looks at him with the most concentrated amount of confusion Isaac’s ever seen, but he just grins down at him.

“This is a rare opportunity you’re being presented with here, Scott,” Isaac tells him, slipping into an almost-chastising tone that Erica has used on him at least a hundred times. “Do you want to jump off the pier at night or what?”

Scott looks at him another moment longer with hesitance, but just as quickly his eyes flash with excitement and he’s standing up, too. Isaac tries to let his wave of adrenaline distract him from the fact that, hey, he’s taking off his shirt in front of a really cute boy. And woah, that boy is stripping down, too. Isaac, while pulling off his own jeans and shirt, is doing his best not to stare at the impossibly tan and surprisingly muscled body that Scott’s putting before him. Under the moon, Scott’s skin is practically glowing and there’s light caught in the darkest bit of his hair. And it’s not like Isaac can pretend he doesn’t notice the black boxer briefs that leave practically nothing to the imagination.

But Isaac totally isn’t imagining anything. Nope. No way.

Scott is asking him if he should be scared while they’re climbing over the wooden beams at the pier’s front. Isaac laughs, tells Scott to trust him, and positions himself so that he’s leaning forward with his arms holding him back. The jump really isn’t that far and Isaac knows the water won’t be too cold considering it is summer now, but he still feels goosebumps on his skin.

When Isaac looks over at Scott, he sees the moon in his eyes and the stars in his teeth. Scott is electric. He’s like a force of light and when he faces Isaac - just bare skin and a daring smile - it feels like a blow to his lungs.

Isaac asks if Scott wants to count to three, but Scott just smiles wider and jumps without a second more of hesitation. Isaac watches him, finding it hard not to laugh when Scott lets out something close to a yell of excitement. When he hits the water, it’s just a few seconds before he’s resurfaced and is yelling up at Isaac that he better not leave him stranded down there.

With a grin on his face and a laugh suppressed on his lips, Isaac leaps off the pier in a canon-ball position - just to make sure he splashes Scott, for good measure.

Isaac breaks the surface only to be greeted by Scott’s laughter. The sound echoes through the night, filling up the dark water and the even darker sky. Isaac feels his smile growing impossibly wider, but he’s shaking his head all the while. Scott’s run his fingers through his hair so that’s sticking up in the front where Isaac guesses it would otherwise be sticking to his forehead.

“I’m freezing,” Scott says, but there’s no evidence of it on his face.

“This is as warm as it gets,” Isaac tells him. When Scott makes a dubious face at him, Isaac laughs and says, “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Scott smirks at him as if to say, “Whatever you say”, but Isaac just treads in the water, watching the moon. He can feels Scott’s eyes on him, though, but when he asks what’s wrong, he hesitates.

“There’s um, something on your face.”

Isaac blinks and rubs at his cheek. “Did I get it?” He asks, but Scott is still staring him down intently.

He pauses again before he says, “No just let me....” And before he knows it, Scott is swimming through the couple of feet separating them. Scott is practically pressed against him in the water and Isaac can feel Scott’s legs bumping into his own. Scott slowly raises his arm, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do what he’s doing, but then he’s brushing his fingers along Isaac’s cheek and Isaac can’t think about anything but the warmth of his skin.

“Got it,” Scott says, the words just barely audible. He’s still looking at Isaac, though, and his fingers are now hovering over Isaac’s jaw. Isaac flicks his eyes down to Scott’s lips and wonders what it would be like to just be that much closer. They’re only inches apart and Isaac feels like his heart is going to leap into his throat, but Scott is warm and he’s so lit up and Isaac just wants.

“Isaac!” A gruff and all too familiar voice barks from the beach. Isaac stiffens and Scott nearly jumps out of his skin, as they both turn to see Derek standing on the sand, waving a pile of clothes at them. He looks anything but amused. “You have thirty minutes, c’mon.”

“Shit,” Isaac mumbles. He looks up at Scott, who is slightly wide eyed, and tells him, “I have to....”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely,” Isaac breathes, but Derek is calling his name again. He almost wants to just grab Scott and kiss him now, but there’s voices in his head that sound a lot like his dad reminding him of the consequences behind missing curfew. So, Isaac swims to shore and pulls his clothes over his drenched body and the blue underwear that is now clinging to his skin without saying a word to Derek. He turns back a final time before he leaves to see Scott waving at him, a faint smile on his face.

“Twenty-five,” Derek mutters. And then he’s off.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the last and hopefully a little fluffier as well! Thank you all for being patient with me and I'll put the rest of my ramblings at the end!

Isaac wishes he had kissed Scott.

There. He’s admitted it.

He wishes all the way home that he’d kissed Scott. He wishes he’d kissed Scott on the pier, or in the ocean, or just any time before he made his big Cinderella-style exit. Then if he never sees Scott again, he would still have that memory.

Isaac barely gets any sleep on Sunday night. He makes it home with less than five minutes to spare, but his dad is already passed out on the couch, a bottle of half empty whiskey on the table beside him. When Isaac lies in bed, staring up at his ceiling with nothing but Scott - and the look of his skin, the glow in his eyes, the magnetic pull of his smile - on his mind, he distantly remembers Camden waking him up just so he could tell Isaac the story about the latest girl he’d met. Isaac was younger then and had thought of his brother’s stories as sort of twisted fairytales. With more sex and less happyily ever after’s.

Isaac wonders if he would be able to tell Camden about Scott - if things were different and he were still around. But he doesn’t dwell on the thought. After all, what would there be to tell? The story of a boy with honey-sweet eyes who patched him up with band-aids and held his hand in the dark?

Monday morning hits him like a freight train, but Isaac finds waking up almost easier with only three hours of sleep under his belt. He manages to get dressed for work and slip out the door while his dad is still in the shower. Isaac even has enough motivation to stop by Starbucks on his way to the diner. Chugging his iced coffee and riding his bike becomes a little bit of a challenge, but he’s smarter than to go against Derek’s beverage rule.

When Isaac parks his bike out front, Boyd is just switching the “closed” sign to “open”.

“You’re late,” Derek greets him from the back of the diner.

Isaac holds up the brown paper starbucks bag in his hand as a peace offering. “I brought coffee cake.”

Lydia takes the bag with a pleased hum. “Remind me again why I work here instead of an actual coffee house.”

Derek just rolls his eyes and tosses a dish towel in Isaac’s direction. “You’re bussing tables today. And you can help Boyd in the kitchen.”

“Can do,” he mumbles back.

Monday’s crowd is slow at best and mostly consists of elderly couples and parents with restless toddlers. By the time his shift is over, Isaac is just tired. Plain and simple. He’s totally not going to admit that he spent a good chunk of his day staring at the door, hoping for a pair of dark eyes to find their way into the diner again. But he will admit that he’s an idiot for thinking something like that would happen in the first place.

Isaac, as crazy as it sounds, just wants to go home.

He’s unchaining his bike from the rail outside of the diner when Erica walks up, jingling a pack of keys in front of his face.

“I’m going to drive you home,” she says defiantly.

Isaac raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” He asks. “How do you figure that?”

“Boyd,” she sings, “is letting me borrow his car.”

Isaac rolls his eyes because Erica and Boyd could squeeze anything they wanted from one another. Boyd is wrapped around Erica’s finger just as much as she is around his. Isaac doesn’t argue any further, though, just loads his bike into Boyd’s trunk and jumps in the passenger seat. Erica bounces in beside him and immediately turns on the radio before she even buckles her seatbelt.

Then she’s talking not so much to Isaac, but more so at him. Erica tells him all about how Derek picked not just one, but a grand total of three fights with Stiles at the party. She says when they weren’t making “bedroom eyes” at each other, they were yelling back and forth like the beach was typical grounds for heated arguments. More than anything, Isaac just finds the story funny. Although, he contemplates formulating an apology to Stiles. Maybe if he somehow does that he would get to see Scott again....

“So, I heard you and Scott went skinny dipping?”

Isaac feels his face heating up, but he tries to play it down by shooting Erica a look to tell her how crazy she is. “There was clothing involved. Is that what Derek told you?”

“He told me that he had to bring you your clothes from the pier.”

Isaac folds his arms over his chest, weirdly self conscience. “Yeah, but... it wasn’t like... just shut up.”

Erica smiles at the road ahead. “I’m just happy for you. That’s all.”

A few minutes later, they pull up in Isaac’s driveway, behind his father’s car, and Erica fixes him with a look he’s never seen before. Isaac asks her what it is, but she just keeps staring. It’s unnerving, really. Then, with a sigh, Erica reaches up to brush her fingers over the scrape along Isaac’s jaw. Her hands raise goosebumps on Isaac’s skin.

“I just love you, okay?”

Isaac doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods - the movement barely anything at all - with his mouth slightly open and his eyes a little too wide. He feels guilty suddenly, the feeling washing over him in a wave. He feels guilty for showing up to work in the state he was in on Saturday and he feels guilty for not talking about things with Erica when he knows he should. He feels guilty for his entire existence, really. Because if he wasn’t around, Erica wouldn’t have to worry about him. She wouldn’t have the weight of his well being on her shoulders.

Erica says, “I’ll see you tomorrow” and Isaac thanks her for the ride before getting out of the car, but after she’s gone, Isaac’s alone with his thoughts and his house and his dad and all he wants to do is scream.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he goes inside and makes dinner for his father and himself - pasta, again - and listens to his dad list off the reasons Isaac should be grateful to him. Because Isaac is worthless, and lazy, and unintelligent, and so the laundry list of flaws continues. But Isaac doesn’t have the energy tonight to listen to something he’s heard a thousand times before.

He finishes his dinner and retreats quietly to his room with a thousand unspoken apologies dying on his lips.

  
  
  
  


Tuesdays are kind of special at the diner because students with valid ID’s eat half off. It’s the only time during the week that the locals take up most of the dining space, but boy, do they sure go crazy for a plate of discounted pancakes. Derek and Boyd work in the kitchen and they fall into an easy rhythm with Erica and Lydia, while Isaac - who has the unique privilege of running the bar for the day - passes orders between them.

Isaac actually ends up serving two cups of coffee and an order of waffles to a boy from his english class junior year, and what might as well be a tray of eggs to the captain of his school’s softball team. The diner becomes a lot more stressful when it isn’t full of people Isaac will never see again.

It’s almost noon when Isaac sneaks his second cup of coffee in the kitchen and Derek tells him he’ll swipe all of Isaac’s tips for the next week if he doesn’t get the hell back out to the bar. Isaac does, begrudgingly, and refills two lemonades, hands Lydia a plate of sausage, and turns to the new customer at the bar all on autopilot.

He’s already saying, “Hi, I’m Isaac. How can I help you today?” before he realizes the “fresh face” in the diner is one he already knows.

Scott is sitting at the bar with a pleased little grin on his face and an unopened menu in front of him. Isaac immediately stiffens when he realizes who it is and he almost wants to pinch himself because he was prepared to wait weeks for that smile to sneak its way back in here.

“Hey,” Isaac breathes.

“Hey,” Scott echoes. He only hesitates for a moment, just barely, before he says, “Do you want to have lunch?” There’s a beat and then, “With me?”

Isaac has to physically stop himself from blurting out an instant yes. He checks the clock behind him and then looks back at Derek - who is preoccupied with cleaning up some kind of juice spill - through the bar’s opening.

“I can take my break in an hour,” Isaac tells him, but the words come out as a question, like he’s not sure if Scott will be okay with that.

Scott nods and he doesn’t even think twice about it when he says to Isaac, “I’ll meet you out front.” Then he’s smiling again, wider this time, but he’s gone from the bar and out the door before Isaac has a chance to catch his breath.

From the other side of the bar, Isaac hears Lydia say, “That’s a straightforward guy you’ve got there, Isaac.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning like an idiot.

Technically speaking, on days when Derek is feeling generous, Isaac’s lunch break is supposed to be half an hour at most with scattered shorter breaks throughout the day, with the exception of Fridays and Sundays in which he gets fifteen minutes collectively. So when Isaac leans over the order up window about twenty minutes prior to his lunch with Scott and tells Derek where he’s going, the You Have Got to be Fucking With Me face he receives is to be expected. What he doesn’t expect is Boyd telling Derek that he should just let Isaac go already. “Just give him ten extra minutes,” he says easily. “Erica and I will cover.” Derek barely spares him a glance, but he mutters that Isaac can leave once he finishes up with the last few remaining customers at the bar.

Isaac does as Derek says with a smile tugging at his lips all the while. When he rings up the last customers, an elderly man and his wife, Isaac can barely keep his fingers from shaking with excitement over the tabs of the register. He tells them to have a nice day and is startled by the sincerity in his voice.

Derek comes to take his place at the bar and holds his hand out to take the pitcher of coffee in Isaac’s hand. He’s frowning so deeply Isaac thinks it might actually hurt.

“It won’t happen again,” Isaac says in a rush.

Derek smirks, like he knows something Isaac doesn’t and says, “Sure it won’t.” And then he waves him off with one dismissive movement of his hand.

  
  
  
  


Despite the fact that Isaac has lived in the same town all his life, Scott somehow manages to find the sole pizza shop that Isaac has never eaten in - let alone heard of. As promised, he meets Isaac in front of the diner at one with the same goofy smile and two smoothie cups in hand. “I tried to bring these in,” Scott tells him, “but your boss told me outside drinks weren’t allowed in the diner.” Isaac shoots daggers at Derek through the diner’s window and apologies, maybe a little too hastily, on his behalf.

When Scott hands one of the smoothies over, Isaac understands what the girls in movies feel when they get those big bouquets of flowers. But Isaac would rather have a strawberry smoothie than a bushel of roses any day.

The walk to the pizza place isn’t too far, but Isaac really couldn’t care less. He just soaks in the sun and the story Scott’s telling about Stiles’ attempt to make pancakes. Isaac tells him that he could’ve just eaten breakfast at the diner, but Scott gives him an exasperated look and says, “But then I wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you!”

Isaac laughs. “Right. Because that’s what you did.”

They eat outside on a bench pressed against the side of the boardwalk. Isaac insists on paying for himself, but Scott refuses so many times that he finally caves. He wants to feel guilty, but the little victorious grin on Scott’s face when Isaac finally agrees is probably the high point in his day. On the beach, it’s the nicest day Isaac’s seen all year with the sun over their heads and a dwindling number of clouds in the sky. The boardwalk is busy, but not overly packed, so Isaac and Scott can talk quietly to each other without having to deal with the constant buzz of a crowd.

Isaac says, “I’m sorry if my boss was being a dick to Stiles at the party.”

Scott laughs at that and shakes his head. “Are you kidding me? Ever since the other night, Stiles hasn’t shut up about him. I think I’m the one who should be apologizing for _him_.”

Isaac grins and finishes his pizza, doing his best to not look like a giant kindergartener when he eats. Scott’s been done with his food for several minutes now, so Isaac asks if he wants to see something. Isaac feels like his insides are about to burst when Scott looks up at him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen and says, “Definitely.”

He and Scott walk a little ways down the boardwalk until Isaac pulls him into the walkway of one of the beach front condos. There’s about a five foot jump down from the boardwalk onto the ground, which is really just sand. Isaac apologizes for testing Scott’s ability to withstand heights again, but Scott smirks and jumps down after him. He says it’s okay but that it was “more fun with less clothing” in this half teasing tone that makes Isaac want to grab him by his shoulders and make up for everything he didn’t do at the party.

Isaac leads them under the beams of the boardwalk where the space is just tall enough for him to stand with about an inch of spare room, but wide enough for he and Scott to walk comfortably side by side. They have to walk a few feet before the lights come into view. They’re not on, because of the time of day, but they look like tiny white moons hanging from the beams of the boardwalk.

He says, “I don’t think City Council knows about this, but they were put in about a year ago. Sometimes people run extension cords from the beach front houses and sit under here at night. My friend Erica, the one from the party, she told me about it. They don’t go one for that long, but they look pretty cool when it gets dark.”

Scott looks around, peering behind Isaac towards the rest of the shaded space. Beneath the boardwalk, the air is cooler and the sun only peeks through in thin strips. Isaac remembers when he was a kid and he would hide out here after school. The lights weren’t here back then, but he would only come during the day anyways.

Isaac starts rubbing at the back of his neck. He tries to fill the growing silence with, “I used to get these ridiculous sunburns when I was a kid. I thought maybe things would be better if the entire ocean was under cover of the boardwalk.”

The distance between them shortens as Scott laughs and takes a step closer. “I don’t think you looked ridiculous.”

Isaac huffs. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the pictures.”

“I’m sure they’re adorable.”

Scott laughs when Isaac pretends to wince. They’re standing close enough now that Isaac can feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that if he just leaned down their foreheads would be pressed together.

When Isaac opens his mouth again, his voice is quiet, an almost-whisper. “I’m sorry I ran off, I just... my dad....”

“I understand,” Scott says in the same almost-whisper and Isaac believes him despite the fact that Scott doesn’t know his father and he doesn’t know where the bruises and scrapes he patched up on Isaac’s body came from. Isaac suddenly becomes very aware of his bruises now that he’s close close to Scott. Scott can probably see the last remaining splotch of the bruise in the corner in his eyes, can probably see the sole red scratch that’s healing on his jaw. He wonders how Scott sees him. Isaac thinks he must look like a second grader’s art project with tiny pieces of different colored construction paper glued to his skin.

Isaac plans on saying “I’m sorry” again or something along those lines. He even opens his mouth to say it. But the moment he does so, Scott leans up and presses his lips to Isaac’s. The kiss is short and soft and really doesn’t feel like anything except for warmth and closer and Scott. Isaac has no idea what he’s doing, but by the time something in the back of his mind registers that hey, Scott is _kissing_ him, Scott is already pulling away.

He looks up at Isaac with what might be an apology ready to come out. And Isaac really doesn’t want that. At all.

Before he can think things through for another second, Isaac is grabbing Scott’s face with both of his hands and pulling him in again. Isaac kisses Scott with everything that he knows, which isn’t much considering his first kiss happened exactly five seconds ago. But Scott, true to himself, is patient with Isaac and guides him through it all with his actions. Scott pulls Isaac closer, gently at first by tugging at his tee shirt, but then he’s got his hands under the material and Isaac’s skin feels like it’s on fire. It’s all Isaac can do to help himself when he runs his fingers through Scott’s hair.

When Scott drags his tongue along his lower lip, Isaac feels his head spinning, but it’s nothing compared to Scott’s tongue against his, or the way Scott smiles against lips when Isaac’s breath comes out as a ragged, desperate sound. Isaac is about one hundred percent sure that he’s too sloppy for his own good and his breath definitely wreaks of pizza, but Scott just pulls him closer, just slides his lips onto Isaac’s like they belong there.

Which, hey, Isaac totally isn’t saying they don’t.

Isaac is the one to pull away first this time, out of breath and feeling like he’s on some sort of Scott high. For a minute, he just stares at Scott with these wide eyes and takes him in, trying to remember how to breathe, or how to function at all. And then slowly, the real world seeps back into him and he remembers Derek, and the diner, and where he’s supposed to be. He pulls his phone from a pocket in a daze and curses to himself when he reads the time.

“I have to go,” he says. “Derek might actually kill me if I go over the extra time he gave me.”

Scott nods and gives him a small smile. “Maybe I can buy you lunch tomorrow?”

“Maybe I can buy you lunch tomorrow,” Isaac replies as he starts making his way back to the start of the beams.

“Wait,” Scott says and he grabs Isaac’s hand to keep him from going any further. When Isaac turns around, Scott is offering him his phone with his free hand. “If you give me your number I can call you later.”

Isaac blinks at him for a few seconds before he takes Scott’s phone in his own hand. Maybe he shouldn’t be as excited as he is that Scott actually wants his number, but the idea of being able to talk to him at any given time... well, Isaac’s not going to pass that up. Scott promises to call Isaac later about plans for the following day as he returns his phone to his pocket and he sounds so sincere that Isaac finds it hard to doubt him.

“You might have to settle for a sandwich at the back door of the diner,” Isaac warns him.

“It sounds like a plan,” is Scott’s honest-to-god content reply.

“It sounds like a crappy excuse for a meal.”

Scott just shakes his head and leans over to kiss Isaac again, this time just as softly as the first. Isaac bites down a smile his whole way home.

  
  
  
  


Isaac has decided that getting teased by Erica about his lunch with Scott is totally worth it when his phone buzzes around closing time with a text message from an unknown number that reads: “zombies: love em or hate em?”. The message is followed a mere ten seconds later with a follow-up saying: “and this is Scott btw (:”. Derek, who was cranky all afternoon just because Isaac showed up from lunch ten minutes late, doesn’t even make a remark when Isaac stops wiping down tables to send Scott a reply. He just assumes it’s because Derek has once and for all given up. This usually happens once a day, like clockwork, around seven P.M.

Isaac replies telling Scott that he doesn’t feel strongly either way, which is clearly not acceptable judging by the post-apocalyptic fanboy rant that Scott relays to him over the course of Isaac’s walk home. Isaac is only able to follow about half of it and most of Scott’s sentences begin with “One time, Stiles and I...” and end with one of them getting in trouble with Stiles’ dad - who is apparently Beacon Hills’ sheriff - or being mildly injured. Isaac finds all of the stories equally amusing and horrific.

His dad, however, is not in the mood to be amused at all and when Isaac breaks a glass on the kitchen floor, it seems that all Hell breaks loose. Isaac actually becomes so startled by the initial sound of the shattering that he turns around too quickly and ends up knocking over the cup of decaf that his dad had abandoned on the counter about an hour prior. Isaac doesn’t even look back at his dad. He doesn’t have to. He knows what’s coming.

Isaac doesn’t text Scott back. He can’t when his dad is pulling him every which way by the hood of his sweatshirt and hurling Isaac at the ground so that his hands collide with the broken glass until the kitchen floor becomes a piece of abstract art, with smears of red in every which way. When his dad is yelling at him that he’s just an endless track of mistakes, repeating themselves over and over, Isaac wants to say that he already knows. He wants to tell his dad that he doesn’t have to yell anymore, that Isaac is fine reliving the words he’s already said. But he can’t speak, let alone breathe after his dad kicks him as he’s crawling to wall, just trying to pull himself up. Isaac hears a cracking sound. He’s not sure if it’s his ribs or the broken glass his dad is stepping on, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care about anything. Because he can’t _feel_ anything.

When his dad yells at him to clean up the mess he’s created and leaves the room in four quick strides, Isaac curls in on himself and breathes in, lying on the kitchen floor with his arms wrapped around himself. Everything tastes and smells like blood in the most familiar and numbing way.

Isaac stays on the floor for what feels like an hour, just gripping at his own sides. And in the deafening silence, he thinks of Scott. He thinks of warm hands and kind brown eyes and the way he smiles when he talks about lacrosse or his mom. He thinks about the way Scott kissed him - with hungry lips and dancing fingers across his chest.

Isaac thinks about Scott and he doesn’t feel so alone.

  
  
  
  


It takes two showers to get all the blood off, but Isaac is more than relieved to discover that everything feels much worse than it looks. There’s a pretty sizable cut above his eyebrow and several smaller ones on his hands - and, by the way, picking shards of glass from skin is no picnic - but otherwise, nothing else is visible. His chest still feels like it’s about to explode, but as long as he practices not-cringing when he bends over, he should be fine.

Derek greets him at the diner by giving him the ever so wonderful job of cleaning the bathrooms and the space behind the bar, but Isaac doesn’t complain. He’s not really in the mood to talk to anyone today anyways. Wednesdays are Erica’s day off, so Isaac has a relatively quiet afternoon scrubbing out the men’s room and rearranging everything in the supply closet, which is technically the ‘employee lounge’ since it’s a full room, but no one ever comes in unless Derek needs something.

He’s nearly done with tossing out the empty clorox bottles when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Isaac is confused as to why anyone would be calling him if everyone he knows - with the exception of Erica and his dad - is currently inside the diner. That is until he sees Scott’s name lighting up on his phone in big, white letters.

“Hello?” Isaac answers, glad that Scott can’t see the stupid smile on his face.

“Hey,” Scott’s voice comes through. “Did I overdo it with the zombies last night?”

Isaac leans back against one the supply counters, moving his phone to the other side of his head. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt for never texting Scott back, but it’s not like he didn’t want to, he just... made a mistake and broke everything again.

“No, no,” he says a little too quickly. “I um, I just fell asleep early. I had to be at work like first thing, so. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Scott tells him and he’s laughing a little bit. “I didn’t mean to go on like that, but I thought maybe I could change your mind. If you still don’t believe me on the whole zombie thing, I might have to force you to watch every zombie movie ever made on your next day off.”

Isaac laughs. “Oh, that sounds like a great way to spend my Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Scott asks and there’s so much enthusiasm in his voice that it makes Isaac’s chest hurt in an entirely different way. “Alright, it’s settled then - no arguments. You’re coming over on Saturday for a zombie movie marathon.”

Isaac has to will himself to sarcastically reply, “Oh, I’m practically jumping out of my skin.”

“You should be.”

Isaac turns back to the bottles on the shelves and starts looking through them again as he says, “Do you still want to have shitty sandwiches at the back door of the diner?”

There’s a pause for a minute, a brief rustling sound, and then Scott replies, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Isaac does his best to _casually_ go about finishing his work over the course of the next ten minutes. Of course, looking like you’re up to nothing is a little difficult when you’re cleaning the floor of the women’s bathroom at hyper speed. By the time Scott texts Isaac to let him know he’s waiting behind the diner, Isaac is done with both bathrooms and the supply closet is as close to organized as it’s ever been. He calls back to Derek that he’s taking his lunch, expecting some sort of muffled response, but Derek just narrows his eyes at Isaac and continues stacking dirty dishes.

Boyd lets Isaac run all about the kitchen making sandwiches without any sort of “quid pro quo” argument. Without Erica around he’s a little less vocal. Isaac thanks him anyways and takes the time to leave a sandwich for him beside the stove before dashing out to the back where Scott is sitting on the concrete, playing a game on his phone.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait,” Isaac breathes as he comes to sit next to him, their backs against the brick wall of the diner.

Scott shrugs, a smile on his face. “It was two minutes.”

Isaac mirrors his smile and sets the paper plate holding both sandwiches between them. He starts rattling off the ingredients of both so Scott can have his pick, but when he asks which one Scott prefers, he doesn’t answer. He just looks up at Isaac with those big brown eyes, but they’re not lit up as usual. Instead there’s something close to worry there.

“What’s wrong? I’m pretty sure you’re not a closet vegetarian, if the meat lover’s pizza you had yesterday has anything to say about it.” Isaac tries to laugh, but the sound comes out nervous.

Scott hesitates and Isaac catches the way he licks his lips, like he’s not sure whether or not to use them. Finally, he asks, “What happened to your head?”

Shit. Isaac reaches up, as if he can cover the cut now and erase it from Scott’s memory. He knows it looks fresh, and dark, too considering the amount of blood it produced. What is he supposed to say? Making jokes in the bathroom to a stranger is one thing, but coming up with a new set of lies to someone you’re actually interested in seeing again.... Isaac feels his throat drying up.

“I... uh, hit my head on a shelf.” _What?_ Isaac repeats it in his head and, really, there is no way Scott’s ever going to want see him again because if he believes that he’s going to think Isaac is an idiot.

Scott blinks. “What?”

“Yesterday, after lunch. I was cleaning the supply room and I kind of walked into a shelf.”

Scott stares at him for a minute like he’s debating what he wants to say. Eventually, he just gives Isaac a small smile and asks, “Does it hurt?”

Yes. But Isaac doesn’t want to say that because Scott doesn’t deserve to hear it. “It looks worse than it is. You know, head wounds, excessive bleeding....” He trails off, but Scott doesn’t seem bothered. He tells Isaac that he should try to keep his eyes up when he walks and Isaac forces a smile and says he’ll try his hardest.

“You know,” Scott says after another moment. “It doesn’t even really look too bad. You can barely see it if you just....” And then he reaches up and flattens the top of Isaac’s hair so that it’s pressed to his forehead. Judging by the shit-eating grin on Scott’s face and the laugh he’s so clearly holding back, Isaac can assume he looks fairly ridiculous.

“Do I look good?” Isaac asks in the most void of emotion tone he can manage. He tries to fix Scott with a glare as well, but it’s hard to focus even an ounce of negative attention on him when he’s looking at Isaac with those big, playful eyes.

“Oh yeah, this is definitely your new look.”

The second Scott’s laugh breaks through Isaac leans forward and stops him with his lips. He’s leaning at a slightly uncomfortable angle, considering Scott is sitting next to him and he has to be careful to not smoosh the plate of sandwiches between them. But Scott tastes like toothpaste and he has his fingers twisted in Isaac’s hair within seconds, so kissing him - just like the day before - is nothing short of intoxicating.

  
  
  


****

Isaac spends the rest of his lunch break with Scott talking about the movies he’s going to be forced into viewing during their “zombie marathon” and arguing about how you can tell when someone’s a cat person or a dog person. Scott can’t decide which of the two sandwiches he wants, so they end up splitting both, sitting against the wall of Laura's with Scott’s ankle hooked around Isaac’s.

When Isaac has to leave, Scott kisses him at the diner’s back door and tells him he’ll call later, but only if Isaac promises to quit walking into shelves. Isaac shakes his head at the remark, but promises nonetheless in a mumble against Scott’s lips. It takes them an extra five minutes to say goodbye.

Derek may roll his eyes when his Isaac makes his re-entrance into the diner and Lydia may have the time of her life making jokes about Isaac being a lovesick puppy, but Isaac doesn’t mind them at all. He spends the rest of his day at the diner with the weight on his chest getting a little lighter with every step. Derek lets him wait tables again and whenever he can, Isaac sneaks a text to Scott, who gets lost on his way home and sends Isaac pictures of stray cats and interesting people he sees on his “epic journey of cosmic proportions”.

His father works late that night so Isaac is blessed with a two hour window of “home alone” time in which he heats up chicken strips from the freezer and calls Scott while watching black and white movies on mute. Scott lists off the movies he already has picked out for their zombie marathon and expresses his concern for the storm that’s apparently going to hit the beach on Friday. He also asks Isaac about his day, laughing when Isaac tells the story of the little girl who put the whipped cream from her waffles all over her face as a beard.

Isaac falls asleep texting Scott and he wakes up Thursday morning to a good morning message with two smiley faces. Isaac almosts resents the way he laughs softly to himself.

  
  
  
  


Scott is the center of his week. Isaac dances around the issue and avoids admitting it to himself at all costs, but Scott is the center of his week.

After their two previous lunch “outings”, Scott asks him on Thursday if he wants to take a walk on the beach. Isaac can only stay out for twenty minutes, but Scott definitely makes it worth his while with his ever-present grin and the surprised sound he makes when they walk under the dock and Isaac splashes his legs with the cold water. Scott also forces Isaac into a detour at the animal shelter on their way back to the Laura's. Scott calls the cats "kitties" in this affectionate voice that just about melts Isaac's insides.

Derek sneezes for the rest of the day because of the cat hair he brings back with him and gives Isaac two very strongly worded lectures about respecting people's allergies, but all they achieve is a few snide comments from Erica and a laughing fit from Boyd.

When Isaac gets off work, he calls Scott and tells him about Derek and his day. Even the attentive hums Scott makes at the other end of the line make Isaac dread the night a little bit less.  His dad is in a particularly bad mood when he gets home and shoves Isaac's face up against the kitchen cabinets simply for looking at him the wrong way. Isaac smells beer and something sour on him when he breathes. But he doesn't make a scene, he just apologizes in a voice muffled by the cabinets because once he makes it through the night, he gets to wake up and see Scott in the morning.

On Friday it rains - like, really rains. Scott meets Isaac for coffee in the morning, but afterwards the sky turns from gray to navy blue and the beach becomes nothing but abandoned folding chairs. Derek announces around noon that the county is under a severe thunder storm warning, so he lets Boyd flip the open sign to closed as they set up camp in the middle of the diner.

Lydia finds a deck of cards in one of the drawers of the supply closet's storage chest so the four of them play BS and Go Fish and other kid's games while Derek obsessively checks the weather channel on his phone. Boyd makes sandwiches for everyone as they watch the storm rage on and it's not a bad afternoon all in all. Lydia has plenty of stories to share about her classmates from the college courses she's taking this summer and Erica doesn't push Derek's buttons too hard. It may be the first day at the diner in months without anyone - i.e. Derek - pitching a fit or screaming at anyone else to regulate their personal space.

It's getting close to three when Lydia says, "So Isaac, you and _Scott_ have been spending a lot of time together."

Isaac is caught off guard, to say the least, and all he can manage in the moment is a shrug and a No Big Deal smile. “Oh,” he replies, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” Boyd pipes up, shuffling the deck of cards as he speaks. “The guy’s been here every day this week.”

“And you’ve been texting,” Lydia adds. “You don’t text.”

Isaac glances between them and to Erica, but the three of them are all wearing the same expectant look on their faces. “So? We’re friends.”

Erica laughs. “Even Derek can smell your shirt from here, buddy.”

Isaac opens his mouth to protest when his phone begins buzzing in his pocket, as if on cue. Boyd, with the biggest grin on his face, asks Isaac who it is, but everyone already knows. Lydia tells him to say hi to his boyfriend from them as Isaac ducks out of the room and into the bathroom.

Scott greets him with a hello so bright it could bring the sun back out again and then proceeds to tell Isaac the tragic tale of his window being blown in by the storm. Because he is an actual angel, Scott also asks Isaac if he’s okay getting home from work, but Isaac assures him that by the time he leaves the rain will have already blown over.

“Are you sure? Because Stiles has a car, so if the storm’s still -”

“I’m sure,” Isaac tells him, laughing quietly to himself.

“If you say so.” There’s a shifting noise from the other line and then what sounds like a fridge door closing. “Hey, what time do you want to come over tomorrow?”

Isaac has been anxious about his Saturday movie marathon with Scott ever since the plan was suggested. His stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster just thinking about it - a whole day with Scott, not having to worry about running back to work or getting home on time. Isaac is practically counting down the hours.

When Isaac asks Scott what time _he_ thinks Isaac should come over, he makes a thoughtful humming noise. “Well, we probably want to get an early start so that we get maximum zombie footage covered... so... do you want to come over around one?”

“Sounds good,” Isaac says. And it does, really. Isaac couldn’t care less about what Scott wants to watch or what he wants to talk about - just being with him has Isaac’s heart beating faster. “You promise you didn’t give me the wrong directions last night?”

“Hey,” Scott laughs. “I know my way around.”

“I believe you, I’m just double checking.”

Isaac leans back against the door of the bathroom with a smile tugging against his lips and Scott says, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  
  
  
  


Saturday mornings are usually good for Isaac. His dad goes into work for a few hours leaving Isaac is free to do whatever he wants with the first part of his day. So, heading out the door around twelve was going to be no problem in Isaac’s eyes. He showers, dresses himself in a pair of dark jeans and a white tee shirt, and grabs a water bottle from the fridge before he stops at the base of the stairs to grab his shoes.

He’s tying up his laces when he hears a sharp voice from the living room ask, “Going somewhere?”

Isaac gulps and looks up slowly. His father stands in the living room, just in front of the couch with this calculating stare fixated so heavily on Isaac that it’s making him sweat. Slowly, Isaac manages to shake his head.

“N-no,” he practically coughs out. “No. I mean.... Derek said the diner’s short staffed so I’m, um, going to work.”

There were times when Isaac was younger when he learned the easiest way out when it came to his dad was lying. He watched Camden - hell, even his mother - lie to his dad over and over and over again just to avoid whatever it was they thought they had coming. He wasn’t as bad then.

Not _as_ bad. But still pretty terrible.

And besides, what is Isaac supposed to say?

_Oh yeah, Dad, I’m going over to my maybe-more-than-a-friend Scott’s house so that we can watch movies and make-out on his couch._

Great idea.

“Well you might as well go,” his dad mutters. “You can be useless somewhere else for a change.”

Isaac finishes tying his shoes and is out the door in a matter of seconds. He knows the way to Scott's house from studying the directions about three times over, so he doesn't even have to think about where he's headed as he steers his bike in the right direction. He just tries to keep his dad off his mind and imagine what Scott might say when he opens the door.

  
  
  
  


Shaun of the Dead may be Isaac's new favorite movie. Granted, he doesn't end up watching most of it due to Stiles' frequent commentary from the kitchen and the way Scott keeps staring at him with this eager look in his eyes that has Isaac way too distracted to focus on anything else.

He arrives at the beach house a little before one, but Scott just says the more zombie time they have, the better. Stiles is home and announces that he will be staying for the first movie, but everyone else - meaning Danny - is out. Scott tells Isaac he can pick any of the five movies to watch first, but when he can't make a decision Stiles intervenes and pushes Shaun of the Dead into the DVD player.

"If you two can keep your hands off each other for one movie," he says in this exhausted tone, "then I will bring burgers back with me for dinner later." And with that he settles into one of the bar stools in the kitchen, which is really just the other half of the living room.

The beach house is small, but not cramped, and there are just enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own. Stiles and Scott have an Xbox set up with the TV in addition to a stereo system on one of the kitchen counters. There's also a porch with looks out, into town that houses a few arm chairs and a slightly rusted swing. It's nothing extraordinary, really, but Isaac loves it from the moment he walks in.

Scott makes popcorn and loads it up with copious amounts of butter and salt. He plops it between them on the couch - which earned a few protesting squeals from Stiles - but it’s the only thing separating them throughout the entire movie. Isaac does his best to train his mind on food, and zombies, and the rain that’s still trickling outside instead of warm skin, and brown eyes, and _touch_.

It proves to be a more difficult task than Isaac originally thought.

When Shaun of the Dead ends - epically, by the way - and Stiles stretches himself in most ridiculous manner possible, Scott jumps up from the couch and tells Isaac that he’ll be right back, but that he has to call his mom. He smiles sheepishly when he says it and Isaac almost feels like he’s apologizing.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Scott tells him, halfway out the room. “We’ve still got four to go!”

Isaac laughs. “I’ll be right here.”

Once he’s out of the room, Stiles comes around to the front of the couch and fixes Isaac with an I Want to Talk to You look, but says nothing. Such a tactic has been used on him before by Erica and Lydia. Isaac rubs his hand at the back of his neck nervously, but finally says, “Am I....” It’s useless, though, because he trails off and then he’s awkwardly motioning to nothing in particular.

“Don’t be a dick to my best friend, okay?”

Isaac is... surprised. Maybe a little stunned. He nods, almost unsure if he heard Stiles correctly, but says nothing because Stiles is already opening his mouth again. “Allison broke up with him three months ago and up until we came here, he still wasn’t okay. I don’t know what it is you’re doing, but you should keep doing it. Just don’t screw up, alright? For my sake.”

Stiles nods once for good measure and then promptly turns to jog down the stairs that lead into the front door. Isaac watches him leave in silence, just trying to process the sole statement he left in his wake.

Mostly, though, he just thinks about one word: _Allison_.

Isaac’s not jealous. He doesn’t even have the _right_ to be jealous because he’s known Scott for what, a week? He doesn’t just get to _claim_ hold on him. And it’s not like Isaac had just assumed someone as cute, and funny, and kind as Scott hadn’t dated before. He was, after all, borderline perfect and that’s what borderline perfect people do. They date other people who have stunning DNA makeup and make everyone else feel like shit about their gene pool.

So he’s not jealous. But curious? Definitely.

Scott comes back into the room with a wide smile on his face and his cellphone in hand. He apologizes to Isaac, informing him that his mom has little to no faith that he and Stiles will survive the summer fending for themselves - and probably for good reason, Scott tacks on.

“She calls every day,” Scott explains, but then shrugs and lifts up Zombieland. “Look good?”

“Looks amazing,” Isaac says. “Could be a real tear jerker.”

“You joke now, but you’ll be bringing out the waterworks for sure with this one,” Scott tells him with a pleased grin.

He plays the movie and comes back to the couch. This time, the popcorn bowl and Stiles are both gone so Scott sits with his leg pressed against Isaac's and his arm hanging over the back of the couch. Ten minutes into he movie, Jesse Eisenberg is on screen, but Isaac’s not even pretending to pay attention anymore. All he can focus on is Scott.

Scott with his funny text messages and his kisses behind the diner and his dorky smiles. Scott with his calm voice, his tanned skin, his hair that flattens itself in the most endearing way when it’s wet. Scott, who is next to Isaac and staring ahead at the screen like he’s the one who’s never seen the movie before.

“Can I ask you something?”

Scott looks away from the screen and stares up at Isaac. He smiles like Isaac’s just asked for something he’s completely entitled to. And wow, Isaac will be lucky if he can breathe again - let alone speak.

“Yeah, of course.”

Isaac hesitates, licking his lips as the world bubble up in his throat. He just wants to ask, to get an answer that can put to rest everyone’s discussions in the diner and give some reasoning to Stiles’ words. He just wants to ask, that’s it.

“Is this, um.... Is this a date?”

Maybe it's a bad question. Isaac is used to asking them, really, and if Scott asks him to leave then he’ll understand. Maybe Scott doesn't want Isaac thinking there's anything between them, that they are “going” somewhere. Maybe he just wants _somebody_ and it doesn't matter who that somebody is. Although, that doesn’t sound like something Scott would do.

Isaac watches Scott’s face slowly light up, like lights on a Christmas display. Then he’s leaning forward, his fingers threading through the hair on the back of Isaac’s neck. His lips are on Isaac’s before he has time to blink or teach himself to breathe again. Scott kisses him softly, but there’s almost a pulling to it, a tugging at Isaac’s lips that’s bringing him closer.

There’s an explosion on screen and Isaac thinks it may as well be fireworks because with Scott kissing him each time more eagerly than the last, Isaac feels like every bit of his skin is alive. Like he’s jumping into the ocean, like leaping off the pier all over again.

When Scott pulls back he’s smiling up at Isaac. Their foreheads are just inches apart. Scott says quietly, “I think so, yeah.”

Isaac doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything at all. He just smiles back at Scott with his stomach on a rollercoaster and his heart beating like he’s been in a marathon. Isaac kisses Scott until he's out breath and his lips feel swollen. 

And for the first time in a long time, Isaac feels okay.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! As usual, check the end for more notes.

“It’s your turn.”

“Really?”

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to keep track.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”

“Um... my forehead, I guess. Maybe my nose.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No it’s not. Have you seen the size of my nose?”

“Yeah, I have. That’s _why_ I’m saying it’s ridiculous.”

“You don’t get to protest my answer. I’m just playing the game.”

Scott leans forward and takes Isaac’s chin gently between his thumb and his forefinger. He’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. He says, “I like your nose and forehead just the way they are.” And then he kisses Isaac’s nose so softly that he feels his entire face heat up within seconds.

They’re sitting on the beach, the sun nearly set ahead of them. Derek had told everyone to go home after lunch, that he was closing up for the day due to flooding in the bathrooms. It’s not a new problem for the diner, but it’s one that sure gets Derek’s blood boiling. It’s also one Derek thinks he can fix himself. Isaac is already dreading hearing the dramatic tale of his plumbing attempts tomorrow morning.

Isaac called Scott as soon as he got the news and they spent the rest of the afternoon at the rerun-movie theatre, talking through the entire showing of Vertigo and splitting a box of Red Hots. Then Scott told Isaac about how he hadn’t gotten a pretty sunset beach photo for his mom yet, so they walked down on the sand until Scott snapped a photo with his phone and then “ever so slyly” took one of Isaac as well. He had laughed and made a grab for the phone, but Scott dodged him, ducking under Isaac’s arm. When he popped back up, he kissed Isaac’s cheek and said, “Wait, wait, one more.”

And then he took a picture of Isaac's ridiculous scrunched-up-in-protest face, grinning madly from behind his phone.

It's probably the best Tuesday Isaac's had all year. Then again, last Tuesday Scott had kissed him for the first time. Maybe every day was starting to look a little brighter now that Scott was around.

They had settled in on the sand, Scott sitting with his legs in an arc over Isaac's. Isaac started talking about games his brother used to teach him to play in the water, just to get him out of his hair for twenty minutes so he could talk to his friends or girls or whoever it was he was interested in. Scott listened with a small smile on his face, laughing when Isaac told him about the time he put a sand-crab down Camden's shorts.

"You're sort of vengeful," He had said.

"I think stupid is the word you're looking for," Isaac grinned. "He was eight years older and at least two feet taller than me."

Scott told Isaac how sometimes he wished that he had a brother, but that he had Stiles and that was pretty much the same thing. Isaac corrected him, telling him it was better because he didn't have to share a bathroom with Stiles.

The sky went from gold to pink to light blue and Isaac kept himself content by resting his forehead on Scott's shoulder when he laughed too hard at a joke Scott had learned from Stiles, and kissing Scott between whispered words about his dad, or the days when he was younger. It was at the end of their movie marathon when Scott had first talked about him - how his dad left when he was nine, how he heard his mom cry for weeks, but in the end he didn't know whether to be upset or relieved. His eyes darkened to an almost foggy brown when he spoke about it and his voice softened. Every word hit Isaac like a tiny needle digging into his skin. He had laced his fingers in Scott's the first time, their limbs tangled together on the couch, and squeezed his hand. Scott said, "Sometimes I just don't get it." And Isaac didn’t get it, either. He didn’t get that someone could just _leave_ Scott - without a goodbye, without anything. He didn’t get why Scott would have to shoulder that kind of pain, out of anyone.

When Isaac left that night, close to nine o'clock, with four of the five zombie movies exhausted from being rewound and paused every ten seconds, Scott pulled him close and buried his face in the crook of Isaac's neck. Isaac didn't know what to do, didn't know what he was supposed to do. So, he just did what felt right and wrapped his arms around Scott, pressing his lips into Scott's hair.

Now the sun is just a sliver over the water and it's been three days since the movie marathon, but Isaac hasn't had a chance to miss Scott because he's been with him every moment possible since. Isaac thinks maybe his dad is having a pretty good summer since Isaac has hardly been home and they only see each other at dinner on scattered weeknights or on odd Wednesday mornings. The scrape above Isaac's eyebrow is the only blemish he's currently bearing, and even that is closed to healed.

They've been playing Truth or Dare for the past twenty minutes, a game Scott suggested with a dorky smile that Isaac couldn't even try to refuse. It's more like a game of twisted twenty questions, though, because neither of them are going anywhere near the dare section.

"Truth or dare?"

Scott beams and leaves another kiss at the corner of Isaac's mouth. "Truth."

"Why was Stiles at Laura's this morning?"

Scott looks up at Isaac and blinks once, like he's confused by the question. Finally, he shrugs and says, "I don't know. Maybe he was stalking your boss. He said he read this thing online, some police report about his family…." Scott trails off, but clearly the face Isaac is pulling isn't having a positive effect on him because he asks, "What?"

"Stiles read something about Derek's family online?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Isaac sighs, long and heavy. "The diner was originally owned by Derek's sister. Her name was Laura Hale. Apparently, she finished college and then opened the diner immediately afterwards. Derek's whole family actually lived in town, but like six years ago some crazy lady started a fire in their neighborhood. She burnt two houses to the ground and one of them…." Isaac runs a hand through his hair, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Derek's uncle ran the place for a while, but about three years ago, he skipped town and Derek took over."

Scott looks… shocked, to say the least. He shakes his head slowly. "Shit."

"Yeah," Isaac mumbles.

Scott asks how long Isaac's known Derek and he tells him that he started working at the diner two years ago. Isaac tells him Derek doesn't talk about, doesn't even like to hear mentions of it, but every once and awhile, he'll say something like, "Laura used to say…." and talk about the days when his sister first opened the restaurant.

"He's pretty tough on the outside, but he's um…. I don't know, he's not that bad. He's sort of like…."

"Family?" Scott asks.

Isaac laughs, but it's a soft sound, like a whisper. He nods and says, "Yeah, kind of."

Scott nods in understanding and shifts his position so that he’s sitting next to Isaac, their legs still somewhat tangled together. They sit in the comfortable company of each other and the barely audible crashing of the waves on the shore. The sun’s gone now and with every minute, the sky gets a little darker, a little bluer, like a watercolor paintbrush bleeding on a page. In the impending darkness, Isaac laces his fingers with Scott’s.

He doesn’t even fight the smile crawling over his lips when Scott squeezes his hand right back.

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac wakes up on Wednesday morning not to the sound of his alarm, but rather to the buzzing of his cellphone from beneath his pillow. He pulls it out, eyes still bringing the caller ID into focus and answers with a grunted, “Hello?” The sun’s barely beginning to rise and Isaac can hear the shower running in his dad’s bathroom from down the hall. He should still have another ten minutes of sleep. And whoever’s preventing him from getting those ten minutes better not expect him to be a ball of sunshine this morning.

Luckily, the voice at the other end of the line isn’t exactly one to tolerate sunshine.

“We can’t open until tomorrow,” Derek says. Isaac can practically _hear_ his jaw clenching. “Something’s wrong with the pipes. There’s going to be a plumber here all morning.”

“You actually called a plumber?”

Derek ignores his question - although Isaac doesn’t miss the brief huffing noise - and tells him, “You don’t have to come into work today, but if you’re late tomorrow I’m going to make you clean the kitchen floors all afternoon.” He pauses and Isaac thinks Derek may have hung up, but then he adds, “And tell the others.”

Isaac laughs bitterly because of course Derek would pick him out of the four of them to wake up with an anything but enthused phone call. Still, when Derek hangs up, Isaac sends Boyd and Lydia a text telling them not to come into work today. Wednesdays are usually Erica’s day off, so he doesn’t bother telling her. She does, however, seem to get the news through Boyd - or Boyd’s phone, rather - because the reply that Isaac gets from his number is signed with her name at the end. As for Lydia, she simply sends back: “This may be the greatest news I’ll get all week”.

Isaac completely agrees. And he knows exactly what he wants to do with his day.

He closes the door to his bedroom and sits with his back against the wall until he finally hears the front door close and his dad’s car pull out the driveway. It’s getting close to eight by the time he’s finally gone, but that’s the perfect time, Isaac thinks, to surprise Scott with coffee.

Isaac takes what may be the new record for quickest shower and changes into a pair of jeans and a shirt Erica bought him for Christmas with little blue buttons dipping down from the collar in a semi v-neck. He totally doesn’t spend close to ten minutes messing with his hair in the mirror. Nope. No way. And he definitely doesn’t practice a smile.

The ride from Isaac’s house to the coffee shop and then on to Scott’s place doesn’t turn out to be all too horrible, except that Isaac has to walk his bike from the coffee shop while carrying one of the drink holders in his hand. Other than that, though, totally manageable Wednesday morning traffic. By the time he gets to Scott’s it’s almost nine and the sun is bringing everyone from their homes and rentals and out to the shore. Isaac is practically bouncing on his heels when he comes around to the back of the house.

He sets the drinks down on the ground and locates Scott’s window without very much trouble. During the tour from the movie marathon, Isaac had learned that Scott’s was the only room facing the back of the house. Which is very convenient for an occasion such as this. From the half-grass half-sand pit behind the beach house, Isaac manages to find about seven nickel-sized rocks, which he then proceeds to chuck at Scott’s window. He may have missed with the first two, but the third and fourth - right on track.

Isaac is just about denying the fact that his life is suddenly becoming a cheesy teen summer flick when Scott opens his window, blinking into the light. His chest is bare and his hair is sticking up in the front - and, God, Isaac is stunned by a crashing sensation in his stomach. He wants to drag his lips across Scott’s collarbones, wants to run his fingers through the tips of Scott’s hair so that it sticks up wildly for completely different reasons.

Isaac, once composed, mock whispers up at him, “Good morning.” He can’t see the look on his own face, but Isaac can feel the sheepish grin. He can’t help it.

Scott looks confused, but he’s smiling down at Isaac, leaning his elbows against the window sill. “What are you doing here?”

"Reciting sonnets, pining, the usual."

Scott grins. "I was kind of hoping to be serenaded, actually."

"Be thankful I'm not singing.” Isaac bends down to pick up the coffee cups and holds them up. “Laura’s is still flooded. We can’t open until tomorrow. Also, I brought coffee. Just in case you weren’t going to come out anyways.”

Scott laughs, but it’s a quiet sound, especially at the distance. There’s sunlight in his hair that reminds Isaac of the night on the pier, when Scott stood in the moonlight and Isaac forgot how to breathe. Suddenly Scott is saying that he’ll be down in a minute and he’s disappearing from the window and all Isaac can think is that he must have done something amazing before the start of the summer to deserve this.

Because Scott is nice to him - _nice to him_ and is happy to see Isaac even when he’s being woken up during his summer vacation.

When Scott reappears, he’s coming around the side of the house to meet Isaac in a pair of sweatpants and a white undershirt. He’s smiling that goofy smile Isaac has seen him pull a dozen times in the past almost-two weeks.

“Did you carry those all the way over here?”

Isaac shrugs. “It’s two blocks.”

“Three, actually,” Scott corrects with a playful glare. Isaac’s about to protest when Scott loops his arms around his neck and mumbles another “good morning” against his lips. When Scott pulls away, he’s smiling brightly. He takes one of the coffees with a “thank you” and then a “you’re the best” after his first sip.

Isaac does his best to ignore the bubbling of warmth that rises up in his chest. He sits with Scott, their backs against the back wall of the beach house. Neighbors on all sides of the house are beginning to drag their children outside, ready for a full day of summer fun. Isaac wonders what it must be like to be one of them, one of the members of a normal “family unit”. He thinks it must just be nice to have other people around. Isaac knows that feeling. He has it when he sits beside Scott, like he is now, or when he’s at the diner. Isaac thinks there’s something special about belonging. About having purpose, having a place in the world. He feels like maybe, drinking with coffee with Scott on a Wednesday morning, that he’s starting to understand his place.

Isaac asks Scott if he has plans for the day, but Scott just shrugs and says, “I sort of wanted to check out Harris Point. That’s the place with all the cliffs and everything, right? Stiles and I were going to drive up today, but he and Danny had to go visit their aunt, so they’ll be gone all day.”

“But I saw a car in the driveway?”

“Yeah, that’s Danny’s. He left me the keys ‘incase of an emergency’, but I don’t think he wants me going anywhere near it.”

“Well, what if you wanted to drive up to Harris Point?”

“By myself? That’s kind of depressing.”

“No, I mean,” Isaac laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, we could go. If you want to. I know the way. It’s only like a forty-five minute drive.”

Scott’s eyes light up within seconds and he’s giving Isaac this sort of perplexed smile. “Really?” He asks.

“Yeah, we could do a picnic thing. There’s hiking and a public beach that’s never really that crowded. I mean, it’s about as nice as things get around here.”

Scott shakes his head, but he’s still grinning as he hops up from his place on the ground and announces that he will be packing snacks and beach supplies. He also says that Isaac can borrow a bathing suit - which he does end up doing, with one of Stiles’ much to Stiles’ misfortune. Scott packs a backpack full of snacks and a cooler full of water bottles and manages to load all of it into Danny’s trunk while Isaac is changing. All Isaac ends up having to do is put his bike into the back and assemble some sandwiches to toss into the bag.

It doesn’t take long before they’re packed and ready to go, Scott wearing a huge grin on his face that Isaac knows he’s mirroring.

The drive to Harris Point takes about an hour with an extra ten minutes tacked on due to a photo-op with the “biggest seagull in the whole world” at their one and only rest stop. Scott drives with the windows down and Danny’s iPod playing songs Isaac’s never heard before, but loves the minute they roll through the speakers. Scott keeps his eyes on the road as much as possible and Isaac can tell he’s doing his best to be careful. Still, the brief smiles and glances he gets during the ride are definitely on Isaac’s highlight reel of the day.

They park at the base of one of the cliffs, at a tourist rest stop in front of a seafood restaurant. Scott’s jaw nearly drops when he catches sight of the water, of the scenery in front of them, and he tells Isaac that he’s crazy if he doesn’t think this beats Beacon Hills. Isaac laughs, says that he’s only been to Beacon Hills once and it was on the way to visit his grandmother when he was seven. He doesn’t remember anything about it except for trees, a stunning lack of sand, and his brother refusing to play road trip games.

Scott ditches his shirt in the trunk of the car and takes the backpack jammed full of snacks and sunscreen - by Isaac’s request - and various other beach worthy items. He kisses Isaac under the car’s open trunk with a smile still on his lips. He tastes like coffee and sugar and Isaac is fine with never moving from his current spot ever again.

He does move however when it comes time to follow Scott out to the sand. Isaac’s pretty aware of his pale skin when he pulls his shirt over his head, but he’s come to terms with the fact that he lives at the beach and yet is despised by the sun. He spreads sunscreen over his skin while Scott just grins at him with this smug look. “Yeah. Okay. I get it,” Isaac says. “Just help me get my shoulders.” Scott helps, or rather plays a game of How Much Can I Make Isaac Shiver Simply by Running My Fingers Over His Back? It’s a game that has Isaac grabbing at Scott’s hands every five seconds and one he definitely will not admit to being fond of. Especially not when Scott fans his fingers out over Isaac’s lower back and curls them around his hips.

Isaac’s breath gets caught in his throat and he can feel goosebumps all over his body, but Scott’s fingers keep tracing circles over his hips. There’s a staggering contrast between his hands and Isaac’s chest, and all Isaac can think about is Scott's skin and how much of it he can see. Scott leans his forehead against Isaac's shoulder blade and breathes deeply. There's heat at the point of contact, a heat that seeps into Isaac's skin and shocks the tips of his fingers.

Scott says, “Thanks for coming with me.”

And Isaac wants to laugh because Scott should not be thanking him. But instead he says, “Anytime,” and then brushes the pad of his thumb over Scott’s knuckles.

Scott races Isaac to the water. He lets Isaac win, of course, but when Isaac calls him on it, he denies it fully.

The water is warm and the sun is overhead, but all Isaac thinks about is Scott. Scott, who stares at the cliffs around them like he’s entered another world. He keeps giving Isaac this wide-eyed stare like he wants to say something, but is holding back. Whatever it is, Isaac hopes it’s something good. Scott does talk, however, about how much he loves the beach and summer and the mountains. Isaac makes mental notes of everything he says and puts it in a file at the back of his head. All About Scott, he calls it. He’ll fill it in every way he can.

Isaac lets Scott splash him with the water time and time again, but when he splashes back, Scott lets out a dramatic cry and throws his arms in the air, as if he’s been betrayed. They wage a war in the ocean until finally Scott gets ahold of him and kisses him like it’s some kind of surrender. Whatever it is, Isaac is not complaining.

They eat lunch on the sand - sandwiches and crackers with a sizable water bottle to share. There’s a cooler in the trunk of Danny’s car, but they decide to save the rest of the water for later, for the ride home. Scott asks questions about the beach and the surrounding coves and Isaac is delighted that he can answer most of them - names of different rock structures and restaurants nearby, the kind of events that go on in this city year round.

“Are there paths on the cliffs?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, there’s hiking trails. Why?”

Scott’s grin is enough of a hint for Isaac and soon enough they’re bundling up their leftovers from lunch and making their way up to the trails. Isaac leads the way, but Scott makes every executive decision on which turn they should take and which point they should see first. It’s not a long trail, but every minute of it has Isaac smiling or laughing or trying to avoid doing one of the two. Isaac picks a flower out of the grass on the side of the path and sticks it in the still-damp mess of Scott’s hair and laughs when he just smiles cheesily and tells Isaac that he’ll “cherish it forever”.

When they reach the top of the cliff, some thirty minutes later, Scott sits at the edge with his legs over the side. Isaac sits beside him, listening to the tale of eleven-year-old Stiles and how his fear of heights got him stranded and terrified atop a ladder. From the cliff, all of the beach seems visible, the people miniature versions of themselves. They’re not terribly high up, but it’s enough that the wind is a little stronger and Isaac shivers against his will. Scott wraps his fingers around Isaac’s, though, and his warmth spreads like sunshine, wafting over Isaac’s skin from his neck to his toes.

The sun lowers itself slowly as the hours start winding closer and closer to evening, but Scott and Isaac stay put on the cliff. Isaac tells Scott about the time Derek locked everyone out of the diner and when customers started showing up, they all had to pretend like they didn’t work there and that they too were just waiting for pancakes. Scott in turn tells Isaac of the time that he and Stiles tried to break into Stiles’ house and ended up setting off an alarm that brought the sheriff himself over. Isaac feels himself being washed over with some sort of calming wave with Scott’s voice as a constant buzz around him and the sky turning a light purple overhead. Scott tastes like salt water when Isaac kisses him now, but his lips are warm and his hands hold onto Isaac’s sides like he’s a life ring being thrown out to sea.

Scott pushes and Isaac pulls. It’s an easy rhythm, like dancing to your favorite song. Isaac has never been much for dancing, but he flows with Scott.

Isaac drinks in as much of Scott as he can, leaving kisses on his neck, down to the base of his throat and across his collar bones. He listens for Scott’s heavy breathing, the way he breathes Isaac’s name. It’s almost addicting, almost dangerous. Isaac kisses the corner of Scott’s jaw, back to his mouth, like following a map across his skin. Scott takes everything Isaac gives him and returns it with fingers gripping at the back of Isaac’s hair and a desperate kiss that makes Isaac’s head spin.

Isaac realizes, looking at Scott’s slightly swollen lips, his soft brown eyes, that maybe he’s falling into something dangerous.

But maybe, just maybe, that something dangerous is falling with him.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


The drive home is quiet. Isaac is exhausted and mildly sunburnt, but Scott plays a few songs at a barely audible volume and leaves Isaac alone with his thoughts. Mostly, Isaac thinks about how happy he is - in that moment, in Danny’s car, next to Scott. He thinks about the sand and the water and about the thousands of other times he’s been to Harris Point. None of them even came close to comparing to this trip. And it’s all Scott.

The roads are empty for the most part and they make it back in less than forty-five minutes. The sky is completely dark now except for a few straggling stars and the half moon hanging above. Isaac notices the clock on the dashboard telling him it’s nine o’clock. He’s an hour ahead of curfew and yet he stills feels nervous giving Scott directions to his house.

Scott pulls into his driveway, though, right behind his dad’s car. He kills the engine and looks over at Isaac, but Isaac can’t meet his stare. He can already feel his knee bouncing from the thought of what his dad might say about the car he’s being dropped off in and the questions Isaac might have to answer about who he was with and ect.

Isaac’s so worked up in his own thoughts that he almost jumps when Scott says, “Are you okay?”

He nods a little too quickly and looks back at Scott with a crooked smile. “Yeah, I just....” He hesitates, words slipping off his tongue. Whatever he was going to say gets swallowed whole, gets jumbled up and ends up being replaced by, “I had a really good time today.”

Scott smiles, the twisted corners of his mouth even visible through the darkness. “Yeah, me too.”

Isaac looks at Scott’s smile and it’s not the first time, obviously, that he’s seen that look on his face, but it makes his heart speed up nevertheless. He looks out the window, making sure his dad is nowhere in sight, before he leans over to kiss Scott goodbye. It’s too short to really be anything and Isaac is getting out of the car as soon as he pulls away, but Scott catches his hand and pulls him back just the slightest bit.

“Oh, wait,” Scott says, the apology evident in his tone. “I forgot to ask you. Danny’s birthday is this Friday, so we’re having a party at the house. Some people from back home are coming into town for the weekend and Danny has some local friends, but it shouldn’t be too crowded. And you can invite your friends. I know Stiles would have a heart attack if your boss showed up, but you don’t have to, I mean....” He shrugs, his eyes scanning Isaac’s face. “We can always cut out if there are too many people or something.

Isaac wants to tell Scott that he’d love to come, that he’s practically jittery over the idea that Scott wants him there. He wants to tell those things to Scott, but he doesn’t because his dad is opening the front door, stepping out onto the front step. Isaac is hit with something that feels a lot like a tidal wave. All he can think is how much Scott does not deserve all of his shit.

“I have to go,” Isaac says, but the words are probably said too quickly for Scott to understand them. He’s out of the car and moving, though, without another word of explanation. He practically runs across the yard to meet his dad at the front step, Scott’s car still in the driveway.

His dad stands with his arms crossed, wearing a frown that seems to deepen impossibly more with every second. Isaac realizes, as he stands trying to contain his erratic breathing, that his bike is still in Scott’s trunk. He finds the sound of Scott pulling away, however, much more comforting than the presence of his bike.

Isaac hesitantly looks up at his dad’s eyes, hard and heavy on his face. It feels like someone is sitting on Isaac’s chest.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner. We had a crazy day at the diner and there was a flood and Derek -”

“Inside,” his dad says. His voice is low, but it hits Isaac with a blow all the same.

Isaac ducks inside and moves into the living room, the sound of his dad locking the door making his hands shake against his will. He runs his hands through his hair, his mind racing with ten thousand he should say - the things he could say to make his dad believe him. But he doesn’t know the trick, hasn’t figured out how to make the anger inside his dad bubble down. Maybe, Isaac thinks, if he weren’t around then his dad wouldn’t be so angry. Maybe there’s nothing Isaac can do. He’s already done too much.

“Who was that?” His dad asks, standing in the living room doorframe. His voice is casual, light, but Isaac can hear the intent behind it.

“Derek. He um, offered to take me home. I’ll just get my bike tomorrow.”

“Derek Hale?” His father puts on a great show of looking into the corner, trying to “summon” his memory. The longer he draws things out, the more Isaac shakes, the more his throat tightens and the words have to force themselves out. “He’s not driving that ridiculous camaro anymore?”

Isaac licks his lips. “Rental,” he explains.

“And you were at work today?” There’s a hint of threat in his voice that has Isaac backing up on insticnt. He nods, but his dad furrows his eyebrows. “Really? That’s funny because I heard that the diner was closed today.”

Isaac shakes his head. “No.” That’s all he can say, his own voice sounding unfamiliar to him. Too raspy. Too quiet.

“Just tell me the truth, son,” he dad says. Isaac thinks the corners of his mouth look like a dog’s lips curling upwards before an attack. Isaac says nothing. He just watches as his dad steps closer and closer. “You are telling the truth, aren’t you? I’d hate to have to ask you again? Maybe you’d give me an answer if we took this conversation downstairs?”

Isaac squeezes his fingers into the palm of his hand, letting the nails press into his skin. When he was little and afraid of shots, the doctors used to tell him to pinch his hand, that the pain there would distract him from the needle. He’s not afraid of needles anymore, but he still uses that lesson, still tries to draw pain away from himself. Even before it sets in.

His dad keeps talking at him, keeps spitting out words of threats unacted upon. That is, until he shoves Isaac backwards, against the wall. He drags him forwards by his shirt collar and into the doorframe of the kitchen, against the kitchen walls, the cabinets, any and everywhere, but Isaac says nothing. He covers his head with his arms and does his best to suck in gulps of air between shaky breaths, but otherwise he remains silent.

If his dad knew about Scott, if he knew about Isaac and what he was....

When his father finally grows tiresome of the silent treatment, he crashes fist into the side of Isaac’s face, just below his right eye. It stings, but it’s a pain Isaac is familiar with. He takes a knee to the stomach, which has him doubling over, coughing into the stale kitchen air.

His father says, “I just wanted the truth” in this nonchalant way that has Isaac wanting to tear out his hair, but the second he regains his breath, his dad is leaving the kitchen and telling Isaac he wants the entire first floor spotless before he even thinks about going to sleep.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


He looks like shit. Conclusion.

Isaac leaves the house an hour early on Thursday morning as to avoid seeing his dad and sits at Starbucks until it’s time to go into work. His hair is a wreck, especially since he gets rained on during his walk, and the bruise below his eye is the most unsettling shade of purple Isaac has ever seen on human skin. When Erica catches sight of him, she makes a noise close to hissing and stops Isaac in his tracks to look over his face. He waves her off, tells her it’s nothing, but even Boyd is looking at him strangely. Isaac is beginning to think he’s growing two heads when Derek quirks an eyebrow at him during lunch break.

“What?” Isaac finally asks, a little exasperated.

Derek fixes him with a look of warning, but then sighs and asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Isaac shrugs, slides a water bottle in Derek’s direction. “Nothing out the ordinary.” With that, he forces a smile and returns to cleaning the supply closet.

Sure enough, the flooding was brought under control by an actual, professional plumber and the diner’s usual customers came bustling in as soon as the doors opened Thursday morning. The lunch crowd seems to be practically buzzing to have Laura’s up and operating again. Isaac, however, pushes through the day without thinking twice of the customers he serves or the little tasks Derek gives him along the way. He only snaps out of his “trance” when his phone buzzes in his pocket and Scott’s name appears across the screen.

Isaac stares at the phone for a good five seconds in just pure confusion. It’s Boyd who finally says, “Isaac, phone” and gets him to step out of the diner and into the supply closet to answer the call.

“Hello?” Isaac says, as if he’s not sure who’s on the other end.

“Hey,” Scott replies. His voice isn’t its usual calm and easy tone, however. There’s something else there, something that sounds like worry. “I was just calling to check on you. You seemed kind of... off last night.”

Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. “Oh, no, I’m fine. I just, um.... I was tired, so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, well, I still have your bike. I thought maybe I could run it over to you and we could grab lunch? Danny tried this new Mexican place yesterday and he said it was pretty good.”

Isaac wants to say yes. He wants to hang out with Scott and talk about Harris Point and tell him about all of the other places they could go, all of the infinite summer Saturdays they could spend taking miniature roadtrips. And more than anything he wants to apologize for running off last night. But he can’t do any of those things because he can’t let Scott see the bruise on his eye.

God, he made that stupid story up about running into a shelf last time. What’s he supposed to say now?

Oh yeah, Scott, don’t worry about it. I just banged my eye on the door.

Great plan. Awesome.

“I can’t,” Isaac says. “Derek has me working straight through the afternoon.”

Scott is quiet for a minute and Isaac hates himself for every second. Finally, he says, “Oh. Okay. Do you need a ride home later?”

“I can walk.”

“Are you sure?”

Isaac closes his eyes and leans his head back against the shelf. “I’m sure,” he says, but the words are quiet, a soft buzz filling the room.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow? At Danny’s party?” Scott sounds hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing and god, if that doesn’t make Isaac feel like the biggest asshole in the world.

“Um... actually, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to come.” When there’s nothing on the other end, Isaac continues, a nervous rambling just spilling from his mouth. “It’s just that Derek might have me close and Fridays are really busy for us. I just don’t know what my day’s going to be like tomorrow. You know, with work and everything. That’s all. I want to come, really, I just... don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Scott tells him. And it’s sincere enough that Isaac should believe it, but he’s not sure that he does. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Just... call me when you get a chance?”

“I will.”

Scott hangs up after a few seconds of silence. When Isaac opens his eyes, all he wants to do is close them again and go back to sleep. He is tired of letting people down. He is tired of looking like a walking punching-bag.

He is tired. Conclusion.

 

********  
  
  
  
  


Erica Reyes is not one to pass up an opportunity to call someone on their shit. Especially when that someone is Derek or Isaac. So, when Friday evening rolls around and the dinner crowd is at a content buzz, the room full of chatter and the aroma of artificial syrup, she leans over the bar and says to Isaac, “If you don’t quit moping around, I’m going to force feed you the apple pie in the display case.”

Isaac sighs heavily and runs his hand through his hair. He tries to wave her off, but Erica stays put. “I’m not moping,” he tells her.

“Fine. You’re pouting, then. Now tell your best friend what’s up.”

Isaac laughs bitterly from beneath his breath. “Best friend?”

“I took the courtesy of bestowing the title upon myself.”

Isaac shakes his head and passes Erica a tray loaded with waffles and club sandwiches in order to rid himself of her presence, but she returns from the table a mere thirty seconds later with a demanding stare still intact. Isaac sighs again because, really, what choice does he have.

“I sort of blew Scott off for lunch yesterday. And today. And for his friend’s birthday party tonight.” Erica scrunches up her face, but before she even has a chance to ask Isaac for the intentions behind his actions, he says, “I just don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Isaac points to the bruise below his eye and Erica’s face immediately lights up with understanding. “Maybe you could talk to him, Isaac. He cares about you, he doesn’t want you avoiding him.”

Isaac shakes his head, but says nothing. It’s not like Erica understands anyways. She doesn’t understand just how much Isaac doesn’t deserve Scott’s attention, his patience, the way he looks at Isaac like he’s worth something. She doesn’t understand and she doesn’t know. And Isaac can’t figure out how to explain it without feeling like he’s going to be sick.

He takes care of the customers at the bar for another couple of minutes, Erica disappearing into the kitchen. He keeps checking his phone at five minute intervals, but considering he ignored Scott’s three texts today, he doesn’t really know what he’s expecting. Isaac pours a cup of coffee for a young woman and her boyfriend and finds it hard not to listen in on their conversation, their nostalgic tale of their week at the beach. It’s masochistic, maybe, but Isaac can’t help himself.

“Isaac,” Derek calls from the kitchen. He motions for Isaac to come talk with him with a simple wave of his hand. Isaac does so, swerving around Lydia to get to the sinks where Derek is standing, undoing a folded-over apron from around his waist. Isaac asks what he needs and is answered with a short huffing sound. “Why is Erica telling me I have to escort you to another party?”

Isaac blinks, taken aback. Fucking Erica.

“She just - no, Derek, I’m not going to the party. And you definitely don’t have to go. It’s just this thing Scott invited me to.”

“So you don’t need me to take you?”

“No.”

“Then how are you going to get there?” Derek asks, as if he can’t fathom the idea that Isaac won’t be in attendance. Isaac opens his mouth to correct him, to protest maybe, but Derek cuts him off by saying, “You’re not staying here. You’re pretty much useless to me when you’re moping at the bar. So either I can take you or you’re going alone.”

Isaac focuses his eyes on the ground, his hands rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “What if.... what if he asks me about my eye?”

“Well, what are you more afraid of: lying to him or telling the truth?”

Derek stares him down, making Isaac fidget on the spot. Isaac swallows the lump in his throat to tell him, “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

They stand in the silence of the kitchen for a few minutes, the space between them seeming too close for Isaac’s comfort. Isaac wonders if Scott even wants him to show up now, after the way he’s been avoiding him these past two days. What is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to apologize for being flaky and then showing up at his party with a black eye? It’s better than avoiding him for the entire weekend, still. Isaac doesn’t really know if he could do it anyways, after the two weeks of having Scott as a constant at his side. It seems ridiculous, but Isaac can’t help it. Scott is like some sort of light that Isaac couldn’t stamp out even if he tried.

“Okay,” Isaac says. “Let’s go, then.”

********  
  
  
  
  
  


The ride to Scott’s place is anything but peaceful, with Derek chewing Isaac out about giving poor directions and then getting angry when Isaac insists that they listen to something other than the same song on repeat four times in a row. Lydia had complained when Derek had left her in charge of the diner, saying that he promised to let her off early, so they were already off to a bad start by the time they got in the car.

Derek parks a street over and they walk in silence, Derek curling his hands into fists all the while. Isaac wants to ask him if he’s tense because he’s going to see Stiles, but he doesn’t want to push it.

When they get to the front door, Derek leads them inside as if he owns the place. The door is unlocked and the entire house is swamped with people. So, not a “small” thing after all. They wander around aimlessly for a good ten minutes or so, climbing the single flight of stairs and heading out onto the balcony and into the backyard. Isaac’s heart races all the while, glancing around for any sign of Scott. It’s a difficult task with everyone around, doing shots from plastic cups and dancing to a loud pop song playing on some sort of speaker system wired throughout the entire place.

It looks like a totally different house than the one Isaac’s been frequenting lately.

Right when Derek looks ready to take some sort of forceful action, Stiles calls out from a drink table in the kitchen. “Isaac?” He practically yells over the music. Isaac spins around so quickly he nearly falls on top of Derek, but Stiles is already moving towards them, a drink in his hand. “Scott said you weren’t coming!”

“Yeah,” Isaac raises his voice to reply. “I got off work.”

Stiles nods, glancing up at Derek. “I can see that,” he says. “I don’t think Scott’s here, actually, he said he was cutting out like an hour ago.” Stiles pauses, looks back up at Derek again, and adds, “But you guys can stay. I can get you some drinks!”

Isaac opens his mouth to tell Stiles thank you, but they’ll just go, when Derek answers with, “Only if by drinks you mean cheap beer and jello shots.”

Stiles grins, like full-on grins at Derek’s sarcastic remark and says something that Isaac completely misses, but before he has a chance to catch up, Stiles is heading back to the kitchen and Derek is following him. He says to Isaac, “I’ll be right back,” doing nothing to acknowledge the look of astonishment on Isaac’s face. What the hell just happened?

Whatever it was, Isaac can’t dwell on it for too long because a group of dancing girls is occupying the living room and Isaac is essentially being forced into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. He heads down the hall, looking into the open doors hesitantly to find couples making out on Danny’s bed, a few people smoking outside of Stiles’ and the bathroom with a line of at least fifteen people. Scott’s door, however, is closed.

Isaac leans against the door and sighs to himself. He feels the skin around his eye and winces immediately. It hurts just as bad as it looks and Isaac is already worrying his lip between his teeth imagining what Scott might say, what he might think.

Isaac pulls open the door slowly and pokes his head to find Scott leaning against his wall while Danny sits on his bed, turning over a pile of CDs and laughing softly as he speaks. He’s saying something about a concert he went to, how the lead singer was ridiculously something - Isaac doesn’t catch the details. As soon as he’s got the door all the way open, Scott and Danny both look up at him with wide eyes.

They stare at him, both silent for a few seconds before Danny smirks and says, “You’re Isaac right? Scott’s boyfriend?”

Isaac doesn’t exactly know how to answer that. He opens his mouth, glancing back at Scott, but he doesn’t get any sort of affirmative or negative head nod. God, he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. He rubs at the back of his neck and hopes for the best when he answers, “Um, yeah, I... I guess I am. I’m Isaac.”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Scott says. He doesn’t look angry, which comforts Isaac slightly, but the look on his face is unreadable. It looks something like a concern and surprise cocktail.

“Derek let me off work,” he explains.

Danny glances between them before standing from the bed. He gives a small smile to Isaac, says, “I’ll go check on the drinks,” and then moves around him to leave Scott’s room. The sound of the door clicking shut leaves the room completely quiet aside from the muffled music and sounds of the crowd.

Isaac looks at Scott across the room. They’re on completely opposite ends, Isaac with his back to the door and Scott up against the far window. Isaac feels Scott’s stare tugging at his heart, speeding it up inside his chest.

“Hey,” Isaac says quietly. Because what else is he supposed to say? Should he ask about the “boyfriend” thing? Should he apologize? Should he spit out a stupid explanation for his eye? He doesn’t say any of those things once Scott starts moving, decreasing the distance between them every so slightly with a single step.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive,” he says. It’s soft, light-hearted, and it makes Isaac breathe a little easier. Scott keeps taking baby steps towards him as he speaks. “I thought... maybe you were mad at me.”

Isaac shakes his head, a little stunned by that. Why in hell would Isaac have any reason to be mad at him? “No, I just... I’m sorry... I was just....” Scott cuts him with fingers brushing up to his face, running under his bruise. His eyes are a little wider than usual, his mouth pressed in a tight line.

“What happened?” He asks, looking up at Isaac with eyes too soft, too bright to lie to. Isaac hates himself more and more with every story he hatches in his mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac tells him, but Scott doesn’t look convinced.

“You avoided me for two days and now you show up with a black eye, Isaac, I’m kind of worried.”

Erica’s words play in his head - about how Scott cares, how he wants to help. But Isaac doesn’t want to admit it to himself, doesn’t want to believe that Scott should have to shoulder any of Isaac’s shit. A black eye is nothing. Bruises fade. It doesn’t even hurt - not that much, anyways.

Isaac can’t look at Scott’s eyes anymore, so he focuses on the ground, digging his shoe into Scott’s floor. “Don’t be. It’s not worth it, okay?”

Scott lifts Isaac’s chin up gently, just like he had on the beach, and his eyes search Isaac’s face. The warmth of his skin makes Isaac want to melt. “Is something going on? Because you can talk to me, Isaac. Whatever it is.”

Over the years there have been several people who have pulled the “we can talk” card with Isaac. Camden, guidance counselors, teachers, parents of kids who shoved him into lockers during the daytime - but none of them had big brown eyes and a sincerity that could make Isaac believe he could fly. None of them were Scott. And that shouldn’t matter as much as it does.

“It’s nothing, I promise. Just forget about it.”

Scott scans Isaac’s face again and for a few minutes, he says nothing, just stays close to Isaac, his thumb rubbing circles on Isaac’s jaw.

“Isaac -”

“Scott. Please.”

Scott doesn’t push it anymore and he drops his hand from Isaac’s face. He takes a step back, creating minimal space between them and rubs at his own chin.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he says quietly. “That’s all.”

Isaac hears the words, but he doesn’t expect them to wash over him the way they do. Scott doesn’t want him getting hurt. Scott wants him safe, wants him to be okay. And Isaac wants to be those things, he does. And he can pretend to be them for Scott. He definitely can. But he’s also going to keep those words hidden, deep inside of him. No one’s ever said that to him before. No one’s ever looked in his eyes and told him that he’s worth the effort, worth the security. And it’s the most terrifyingly wonderful thing Isaac has ever felt.

“I’m okay,” Isaac says, stepping closer to Scott again. “Scott, I’m okay, I promise. It was just a stupid fight. It was a couple of days ago, but I’m fine.”

Scott nods, slowly and first, but he seems to gain confidence in the motion. “You don’t have to lie to me, either, Isaac. I don’t want you to think you have to... hide anything from me.”

Isaac has to swallow what might as well be a rock in his throat to smile softly at Scott and whisper, “Why would I do that?” And then he leans down and presses a kiss to Scott’s lips.

For a moment, he is safe.

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot a new character in the tags? Sorry for the wait! I hope you all enjoy this one!

When Isaac was younger, he had a fear of sleeping in strange places, of being in other people’s houses. Part of him wanted to say it was because even his own house didn’t feel like a home, but whatever the reason, Isaac couldn’t handle sleepovers or overnight class trips until he was around thirteen. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, hands shaking, waiting for something to happen to prove him right - that he had a reason to be so anxious. But it was only in his house in which something ugly came to find him. And that something ugly looked a lot like his father and smelled all too often like whiskey and cigarettes.

Isaac doesn’t feel any discomfort lying on Scott’s bed, however. The sheets are warm and the bed lies exposed in the slant of sun coming through the window. Scott’s pillow smells like him, like his shampoo and salt water, and Isaac breathes it in like fresh summer air. Scott’s back is solid against his chest, curled into him like the final piece of a puzzle, completing the image and sorting everything out until it fits right. His arm hangs over Scott’s waist, keeping him close. But Scott doesn’t push away, he simply tangles their fingers together.

It’s a Saturday morning so easy, so sweet, Isaac could inject it directly into his veins.

He had left Danny’s party just before curfew. Once he was home, Isaac nearly ran up the stairs to reach his bedroom. He had sat locked in his closet for most of the night, talking to Scott on the phone, whispering reassurances and hearing them back through muffled speakers. When he closed his eyes, Isaac could pretend that he was with Scott, closing the distance between them with nothing but a few softly spoken words.

When it was pushing two thirty and Isaac had to lean his head against the wall of his closet to keep it up, Scott had said quietly, “I’m sorry about Danny.”

Isaac ran a hand limply through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“When he asked you, um, if you were my boyfriend. You didn’t have to say yes. I mean, if you wanted to say yes, then I’m fine with it. I mean - I’m not fine with it, I’m really happy about it. You know, because I like you, a lot and I just...." Scott sighed. “Isaac?”

Through the darkness, Isaac smiled to himself. “I wanted to say yes, Scott.”

There was a brief exhaling sound, a sigh of relief, Isaac thought, and then Scott said, “Good. I wanted you to, too.”

Isaac barely had four hours of sleep under his belt by the time he woke up, but Scott had promised they could sleep off their night at his place if Isaac wanted to, and that was motivation enough for Isaac to stumble down the stairs and bike over to Scott’s at seven in the morning. Isaac used the spare key, the one under the matt that Scott had told him about to let himself in. His eyes were half-closed as he made his way to Scott’s room, but when he got there - god, did everything feel worth it.

He kicked off his shoes and unhooked his belt as quietly as possible. Scott hadn’t even noticed Isaac was there until he lifted the sheets from the bed and crawled underneath. He was tentative about it, afraid to wake Scott up, but still so eager to feel the warmth of his skin, to fall back into an easy state of unconsciousness with Scott surrounding him. When Isaac worked his arm around Scott’s bare chest, pressing against his back, he felt Scott tense for a second and then a mere moment later, hum contentedly at the recognition of who it was.

“Morning,” Scott mumbled, tucking one of his feet between Isaac’s. Isaac smiled and leaned his head down so that his forehead was pressed to the base of Scott’s neck.

“Good morning,” Isaac whispered back.

It's almost nine now, but neither of them have moved from Scott's bed. Isaac slips in and out of consciousness, mostly just in a sleepy sort of haze with his arms wound around Scott. Scott looks peaceful when he sleeps, vulnerable and at ease in Isaac’s hold. Isaac wants to tell him “thank you” over and over again, but Scott wouldn’t know what for. Scott doesn’t know how much Isaac owes him, how much he's given Isaac just by keeping him company on a Saturday. Isaac doesn't think he could explain even if he tried.

Isaac settles, instead of verbalizing a jumbled up version of how Scott makes him feel, for pressing his lips into the back of Scott’s head, burying kisses his hair. Scott shifts - slowly, still half asleep, and moves carefully beneath Isaac’s arm so that’s he’s facing him now. His eyes aren’t open all the way, a little cloudy as he blinks them up at Isaac. He’s wearing this smile that sends a blow to Isaac’s heart - crooked and sweet with nothing but affection in his stare.

He laughs quietly, a whisper of a sound beneath his breath, and reaches up to card his fingers through Isaac’s hair. “You have really bad bedhead,” Scott tells him.

Isaac rolls his eyes playfully, but he leans into Scott’s touch, ducking his head down to move closer. “Oh yeah? You’re looking pretty good yourself,” he mumbles back, words pressed into Scott’s forehead. Scott just laughs again.

“Oh, I know how I look,” Scott says. He runs his fingers down Isaac’s jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing over his chin. Isaac watches his face flicker with hints of light, brown eyes widening, brightening with every minute that passes - like the sun rising outside. When Scott kisses Isaac, it’s slow and soft and it makes his mind reel. Scott has his hands on Isaac’s neck, fingers caught in his hair. And Isaac, well Isaac can’t keep his hands away from the bare skin of Scott’s chest, can’t keep his fingers from dancing across the muscles.

Scott’s legs become completely tangled with his and Isaac can feel himself smiling against Scott’s mouth more so than he trace the reason behind it. When Scott kisses down Isaac’s neck, warm marks left against his throat, Isaac breathes in. He inhales the sun draping over the bed, the cool air wafting through the room from a tiny vent in the ceiling, the feeling of Scott pressed against him - solid, warm, strong. Scott’s hair is thick between his fingers and Isaac can’t help himself from tugging on it when Scott’s teeth drag against his collarbone. His breath hitches, eyes widen, but Scott keeps working his way along Isaac’s neck, his chest, the side of his jaw.

If Isaac closes his eyes, he can only feel Scott and the sun of his skin. It’s dangerously intoxicating.

When Isaac breathes Scott’s name, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, there’s a shift in position, just barely, so that Scott is hovering above his Isaac, leaning a hand next to his head. Scott kisses up to Isaac’s ear and Isaac can feel his breath, warm and heavy, on his skin. Isaac keeps his hands on Scott’s back, his fingers over his shoulder blades, trailing down to small of his back. There’s movement outside of Scott’s door, voices in the hall - one of them belonging to Stiles and the other vaguely familiar - but Isaac doesn’t focus on them, especially not when Scott’s kissing him again, grinning against his mouth when Isaac’s fingers slip under the band of his boxer briefs.

Isaac swears to anything that may be above that the way Scott bites at his bottom lip - dragging the skin just hard enough that Isaac feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but gently enough so that it doesn’t hurt - is absolutely sinister. And he can tell Scott knows, too, because Isaac’s eyes go wide and suddenly he’s kissing Scott like his life depends upon it, like Scott is some sort of oxygen tank and he’s been running a marathon.

The voices outside of the door seem to be moving closer - not so much a distant buzz anymore, but rather something that sounds a lot like an argument. There’s a shout, followed by laughter, and then a knock on Scott’s door that has both of them nearly jumping out of their skin. Scott sits up so that’s he’s basically just straddling Isaac, which definitely does nothing to help Isaac look “casual” as he leans up on his elbows.

“Scott!” Stiles calls, pounding on the door. “Wake up, man! We’re taking Danny out for a post-birthday breakfast! We’re even going to Laura’s, so there is a three hundred percent chance that if you come, you’ll get to drool over your actual-tree of a boyfriend. Actually, there’s no if you come since you’re the one treating us all, but -” Stiles stops talking there because he’s got the door pushed open now and can very well see that Scott’s not sleeping at all. His mouth hangs open, but just slightly and only for a second, before he rolls his eyes and nods to himself once for good measure. He says to the floor, in this mock-casual tone, “Oh, hey Isaac. Do you want to come to anywhere-but-Laura’s with us?”

Isaac knows his face must be bright red, but he still feels like he’s about to burst out laughing at any second. “Yeah - definitely, I’ll, um.... Sounds great.”

Stiles nods again and motions with an awkward twisting of his arm that he’ll be leaving. He mumbles something as he closes Scott’s door along the lines of, “Sure, Stiles, just come in while I climb my boyfriend, half naked in bed. Sure, great, awesome.”

When the door clicks shut, Scott leans his forehead against Isaac’s shoulder, laughing against his skin.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Breakfast with Danny, Stiles, and Scott turns out to be the most fun Isaac has all week. They go to a local pancake house, a “rival” of Laura’s that Isaac actually tolerates. Stiles orders waffles and spends half of his time making ridiculous faces at Scott’s stories from behind his menu. Danny, who is so hungover that everything and anything Stiles does seems beyond annoying to him, doesn’t eat anything, but instead nurses six or maybe seven cups of black coffee. He recalls very little of his own birthday party as it turns out, but halfway through their meal, he pulls out two crumpled up phone numbers and what looks to be a hula-girl keychain from his shirt pocket with an amused smirk.

As for Scott, he sits opposite Isaac, and divides his time between trading side dishes with Stiles and resting his feet against Isaac’s beneath the table. Stiles says something along the lines of, “If you two don’t quit making googly eyes at each, there is going to be some serious seat-rearrangement” shortly before the food comes, but all it earns him is an eyeroll from Danny who tells him to calm down or he’ll tell the story of the “Peanut Butter Incident of 2006”. Honestly, Isaac spends half of their meal waiting for Danny to finally tell it, but his threats against his cousin are completely empty.

Isaac learns a lot about Danny and Stiles during breakfast. Like that Stiles has ADHD and he’s on the lacrosse team, too. Actually, so is Danny. He’s the goalie, apparently - the best and only one they have. Danny is, just as Scott has told Isaac before, very good with computers and all kinds of technology that Isaac can’t even begin to understand when Danny talks about them. But everything is interesting to Isaac in the same way. Every story Stiles tells about Beacon Hills High School, every name he tacks onto his chem teacher, every guy Danny talks about with a small smirk on his face, every mention of his best friend back home - Isaac drinks it all in. He has plenty to say himself, comparisons of Lydia to Danny’s friend Jackson from Beacon Hills and the infamous tale of Erica’s first driving lesson. When Danny and Stiles laugh at Isaac’s story about the time Derek was doing handy-work on the bathrooms at Laura’s, shirtless, and an elderly woman put a twenty in his back pocket with a wink, Scott catches Isaac’s eye and beams.

Isaac feels warm from the inside out.

When Scott is counting out his and Stiles’ - and not Isaac’s because apparently he is being “treated” - money, Danny says, “So, who was that guy in your room last night, Stiles?”

Stiles waves him off, his arms hardly attached to his body as he does so. “Probably one of your creepy ass beach friends. The locals are kind of handsy.” Stiles blinks, smiles sheepishly at Isaac. “Not you, though. You’re a keeper.”

Isaac grins. “Yeah. Okay.”

When Danny opens his mouth again, Stiles is already hopping up from the booth, the check now shut on the table. He grins back at them and claps his hands together. “I don’t mean to sound pushy, but I plan on spending my summer vacation at the beach. Not in some knock off version of our new regular diner.”

Scott shakes his head, but he’s pushing his way out of the booth soon enough, only to be joined by Isaac and Danny in the aisle way of the diner. Stiles is talking a mile-a-minute as they make their way out, but Scott simply gives Isaac a smile and walks with his shoulder pressed against his a few feet back from the others. Once they’ve reached the parking lot, Scott stops him and says, “Thanks for coming, by the way. You totally didn’t have to.”

Isaac shrugs, wearing a smile of his own. “I had fun,” he says and it’s the truth. “Your friends are nice.”

Scott’s smile turns softer and he shakes his head slightly before cupping Isaac’s cheek with one of his hands, his thumb brushing underneath the fading bruise still painted on his eye. Isaac leans into the touch, his smile still intact as he leans down to kiss Scott shortly. Stiles may berate them with an eyeroll and a mutter about “puppy love” once they make it to the car, but it’s more than worth it.

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac is riding cloud nine. He’s fairly certain that being this happy for so long is a little dangerous, but he figures he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Derek has been in a good mood all week, letting everyone take longer breaks, not rolling his eyes so much at Erica, and Isaac swears he saw him honest-to-god smile at a little girl who spilled a cup of juice. It’s a June miracle. Erica says it’s because he’s finally getting sun exposure. Boyd says it’s because he’s finally getting laid. Whatever it is, Isaac is grateful for it.

Isaac spends his Sunday lunch break with Scott, picking up lacrosse terms on the beach as Scott teaches him how to use a stick. Stiles comes and it turns out to be a lot more fun than Isaac had expected it to be. He may actually like lacrosse - like, really like it. Stiles sets up a mini goal out of already-used snow cone holders and while he pokes fun at Isaac for missing five consecutive shots, he also teaches him a trick with his wrist that makes the sixth try a success. “You’re a natural,” Stiles tells him. “It’s kind of irritating, but you’re good.” Isaac has to bite back a grin.

Scott brings Isaac coffee on Monday morning, which Isaac drinks secretly in the supply room. He kisses Scott in a closet that smells like Windex and artificial lemon scent, but he couldn’t care less. They meet up for lunch, a daily routine now, at an old school ice cream shop next door to Laura’s and Scott gives him a CD - an actual CD - and says that some of the music Isaac said he liked on the way to Harris Point is on it. Isaac may or may not kiss the chocolate milkshake off Scott’s lips.

On Tuesday, Erica calls in sick. The upside is that Derek is even more smiley - meaning, he actually smiles twice. In the same day. The downside is that Isaac and Lydia have to make up for her absence and Isaac works through his lunch. Around two, however, Scott shows up and sits faithfully at the bar, ordering copious amounts of decaf. Isaac ruffles his hair when he walks by and doesn’t even mind the “gushy” sounds Boyd makes at him when he grabs a tray from the kitchen. When Erica comes back in on Wednesday - “I’m working on my day off. Are you happy now, Hale?” - she gives Isaac a dramatic sigh and says, “The one day I’m gone, you decide to be all obnoxiously cute, huh?”

Isaac smiles at her and pushes a cup of coffee in her direction. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, E.”

And Erica certainly is feeling better, judging by the way she kisses Boyd in anything but professional manner in the kitchen before opening. That, and when she catches sight of Scott coming to pick Isaac up for lunch in the afternoon, she nearly bolts to the door to be the first one to greet him. Isaac practically has to pry him away from Erica’s conversational hold and he’s apologizing to a wide-eyed Scott the minute they’re out of the door. Despite the Erica Run In, however, Isaac’s “perfect” week isn’t ruined at all. He hasn’t even really seen his dad by the time Thursday morning rolls around. And Isaac is more than happy to keep it that way.

He spends his morning running the floor with Lydia, Erica at the bar, and Derek helping in the kitchen. There’s a party of twelve that comes in around noon, one of the biking tours through town or something like that. There are two little boys at the head of the table who keep flinging hash-browns at each other, but Isaac gets them to calm down somewhat when he brings around an extra set of crayons from the kids’ menu packs. At least picking up broken crayons is easier than mopping up half-juice, half-potato puddles. Isaac also waits on a party of about six girls, a few years younger than himself, and he’s about two hundred percent sure that the random outbursts of giggles coming from their table has something to do with comments made about him. Isaac has never wanted a lunch break more than he does now.

When Scott walks in, close to one, with a smile on his face and a Subway bag in his hand, Isaac wants to kiss him a thousand times over. He calls to Derek that he’s taking his break and doesn’t even wait for a response. He practically drags Scott out the door to a bench off to the diner’s side in record time.

“Rough morning?” Scott laughs, offering him a sandwich once they’re situated on the bench.

“Long morning,” Isaac corrects. “It wasn’t so bad. Just the usual: eight-year-old terrorists waging breakfast wars, objectification from tween girls, coffee spill underneath two tables.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he huffs. “Not so bad.”

They eat in between exchanged stories of their mornings. Scott tells Isaac about the guy that walked out of Danny’s room totally naked and in turn Isaac tells him about Derek’s happy-kick. When he explains Boyd’s theory that he’s seeing someone, Scott laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t tell that to Stiles,” he says. “I think he has a crush on your boss or something. He asks about him sometimes and whenever I mention him it’s like I’ve set off some sort of conversational bomb.” Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that, so he he just shrugs and gives Scott a smirk.

Isaac is finishing his sandwich and stealing what’s left of Scott’s Mountain Dew when he notices that Scott’s watching him, eyes on him in what looks like hesitation. Isaac drinks slowly and screws the cap back onto the bottle, pretending not to notice, but when Scott doesn’t say anything after another minute, Isaac asks, “What’s up?”

“I want to ask you a really ridiculous question.”

Isaac blinks, raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Scott turns to face Isaac, angling himself with one leg on the bench, folded. He opens his mouth and closes it again before sucking in a breath and finally asking, “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

Isaac waits. And he waits. But Scott says nothing else. That’s the whole question. Isaac almost wants to laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, Scott, that’s a ridiculous question.” He smiles and then shrugs. “I guess I can cut out early tomorrow and take a shift on Saturday morning. I’ll ask Derek.”

“Great.” Scott drums his fingers along the rail of the bench. “But um... the ridiculous part is that my mom is going to be there.” Isaac doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t think he has to because - judging by the way Scott immediately launches into a mini-speech - his face must be doing all the talking for him. “It’s just, she’s coming into town for the weekend and I don’t think I can even remember a time when she’s taken a vacation. Ever. And I’m not saying you have to, I’m just saying that I talk about you all the time and I’m sure that if you came, she’d really like to meet you. And I’d like to have you there. To meet her. Because... it’s just... important to me. And... you’re important to me.”

Well. Shit. How is Isaac supposed to say no to that? Historically, parents are not his thing for all the obvious reasons. But this, meeting Scott’s mom, this is something else entirely. This is a statement. This is a trial, a test-run. How does Isaac get along with my mom? How does Isaac fit into my life? He can see it all: the way Scott will be disappointed in him when he can’t make small talk, the way he’ll give Isaac a tight frown and probably apologize for dragging his mother all the way from Beacon Hills. Isaac will screw it up. It’s that simple.

“I don’t really make good first impressions,” Isaac squeezes out.

The corners of Scott’s mouth twitch upwards, a suppressed smile fighting its way out. “You made a good first impression on me.”

“I had you wipe blood off my face.”

“I was the one who offered.”

“I made the actual dumbest jokes I’ve ever heard.”

“You were cute,” Scott tells him, nudging his knee. “And I thought you were funny. It was a great first impression.”

Isaac shakes his head, his own smile fading as he looks down towards his lap where his fingers are knitted together. “What if, uh.... What if I say something stupid?”

“I say stupid things all the time and she’s okay with it.” Scott lifts up Isaac’s chin until their eyes are locked. He kisses Isaac’s forehead softly, just enough so that Isaac feels that increasingly familiar comfort drape itself over him. “I promise it won’t be that bad.”

There’s a moment where Isaac doesn’t say anything. He sits in silence and stares at Scott, scanning his face for something that’ll give him up, expose him for the first time in these past three weeks as anything but kind and caring and honest. There’s nothing there, though. Nothing but an invitation that Isaac can’t find enough reasons to say no to.

He worries his lip between his teeth a moment longer before he says, “What time should I be there?”

 

 

********  
  
  
  
  
  


In retrospect, asking Erica for advice is generally a bad idea. Asking Lydia is even worse. So, when Isaac leans against the bar Friday morning before opening, standing aside as Erica and Lydia wipe down the counter, he thinks he must be going crazy once and for all.

“Hypothetically speaking,” he says as casually as possible, “if you were meeting your boyfriend’s mom for the first time, what would you say? And wear?” Isaac pauses, thinks for a second longer, and then adds, “And do, just generally speaking.”

Lydia and Erica both stop wiping down the bar at the same moment, but fix him with completely different looks. Lydia has her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a way that looks like she’s ready to chew Isaac out for the sheer ridiculousness of his question. Erica, however, has the same look in her eyes, but a grin canvassing her lips. It’s not a grin Isaac’s too fond of. It’s her “Well, look what we have here” grin. And Isaac is never not on the receiving end of it.

“By any chance, in this hypothetical situation, are we you?” Lydia asks, sounding unamused. Isaac can see the glow in her eyes though, can see the curl in her lips - Lydia Martin has a tell for caring. When Isaac nods, she hums and asks, “And would this boyfriend by any chance be Scott?”

Isaac nods again.

“Scott’s mom is coming here?” Erica asks, leaning on the bar with her elbows.

“She’s, uh, driving in right now. She leaves Sunday, but Scott invited me to dinner with them tonight.”

“And you’re nervous?” Lydia asks, eyebrows raised.

“Nervous doesn’t even cover it,” Isaac says with a shaky laugh. He’s rubbing at the back of his neck out of habit, but it doesn’t calm him down any more than trying to breath does. He had stayed awake last night, watching the ceiling and pretending it was Mrs. McCall. He acted out as many fake introductions as he could, but the more mock-rehearsals he had, the more anxious he became. She could say anything. And he could screw everything up. It didn’t help that Isaac kept reminding himself of Scott’s ex. Allison had probably met Mrs. McCall, had probably made a flawless first impression. God, Isaac was going to be compared to this girl he didn’t even know. A girl he couldn’t even ask Scott about, couldn’t work up to courage to mention.

“Why don’t you just borrow one of Derek’s shirts,” Erica suggests. “He keeps a shit ton of clothes here.”

“Yeah,” Lydia huffs. “There has to be something manageable.”

“Like he’s going to let me borrow one of his shirts.”

Lydia and Erica exchange a glance and before Isaac even knows what’s happening, Erica is disappearing behind the bar, into the kitchen, and reappearing a few minutes later with the duffle bag Derek keeps in the supply closet. She says, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him” and then begins rifling through the clothes with Lydia, tossing various articles at Isaac without speaking a word to him, but several to each other. They tell him to try everything on and to make it fast, before Derek comes back from wherever it is he just had to run off to this morning.

Isaac does as they say and tries on a gray tee shirt (“too pale”), a navy henley (“too Derek”), and a wrinkled black button up (“too broody”). Boyd emerges from the kitchen and fixes Isaac with a questioning stare. Isaac says nothing, but silently prays for death to come as he slips on another button up. This one is light blue - which is pretty shocking considering Isaac’s seen Derek wear color a grand total of zero times - and Isaac rolls the sleeves up to his elbows because they’re a bit too long. He gestures for Erica and Lydia to approve it and awaits an answers as they look him up and down several times.

“You look fucking adorable,” Erica finally says with a pleased grin.

Isaac looks to Lydia, who isn’t smiling, not even close, but there’s a twist in her lips that gives him hope. Even Boyd is beaming, shaking his head all the while, but he’s happy nevertheless. He tells Isaac that he better not let Derek find out he’s taking that shirt. “He’s probably saving that for something really special,” Boyd says. “Like the day he fires one of us, he’s gonna wear it.”

Erica’s turning the closed sign around as she says, “Who do you think will be the first to go? Out of all of us?”

“I think Derek would rather take a job at the carnival than have to hire new people,” Isaac mutters. Everyone hums collectively in agreement.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


When Isaac was six-almost-seven, his mom told him that the key to making new friends was confidence. All he needed to do was slap on a smile, walk up, say his name, and boom - friendship would be born. Isaac believed this was the single greatest piece of advice anyone had ever given him all the way up until his first day of first grade when he introduced himself to a boy in his class and was promptly shoved into the slide. Isaac had cried the whole car ride home from school that afternoon and his mom told him that she was sorry, over and over again, but that the boy from the playground was just the wrong person for Isaac, that he didn’t deserve Isaac as a friend. And Isaac listened, but he didn’t believe her. That kid had plenty of friends while Isaac had none. There was nothing wrong with that kid.

When Isaac was fourteen-almost-fifteen, about to start high school and lose his brother to a war halfway around the world, Camden looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m not going to be around anymore to kick anyone’s ass for not putting up with you. You need to get yourself a friend. I’m serious, Isaac.” On his first day of ninth grade, Isaac struck up a conversation with a girl in his biology class. Two minutes in she had caught sight of the bruise that was the entire right side of his jaw. Their conversation ended when Isaac couldn’t come up with a coherent excuse.

When Isaac was sixteen-almost-seventeen, a little less than a year ago, his dad kicked the side of the freezer and said, “You think anyone’s gonna hear you screaming? You don’t have anyone who cares, son. You don’t have anyone!” From inside the freezer, Isaac wiped a mixture of tears and blood from his lips. Wordlessly, he agreed with his dad. He had no one.

Isaac is seventeen-almost-eighteen now and he’s got a bundle of flowers in his hand and some sort of fancy-smelling gel rubbed in his hair from Lydia. He’s on his boyfriend’s doorstep, bouncing almost on the balls of his feet. He remembers his mom’s advice, about smiling and having confidence. And he remembers Camden’s words. And his dad’s. And at seventeen-almost-eighteen, Isaac is still nearly shaking over the idea of meeting someone new, of trying to get someone to like him.

Erica and Boyd had told him a hundred times this afternoon that he would be fine. Hell, even Lydia had told him that he was “any mother’s dream”. But now the sun is setting and Isaac’s palms are sweating and the bruise on his eye may be gone, but he’s still hyper-aware of how his face might look. He hovers his finger above the doorbell for a solid two minutes before finally working up the courage to press it. Even worse, once he does, Isaac contemplates ding-dong-ditching just to give himself another ten minutes of preparation. He has no option of running away, however, once Scotts opens the door.

He catches sight of Isaac and almost seems to do a double take, blinking rapidly for a moment before smiling this sort of bashful grin that totally, absolutely doesn’t make Isaac want to grab him by his stupid tee shirt collar and kiss him until he can’t hold his breath any longer.

“I, um, brought flowers?” Isaac tells him, holding the “bouquet” up.

Scott laughs and leans up to kiss him quickly. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

Isaac shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scott huffs, but he’s grinning at Isaac and pulling him through the door soon enough. There’s voices coming from upstairs - Isaac picks them out as Stiles and the other one, well, that must be Scott’s mother. Isaac reminds himself of the basic ways to introduce himself to someone, plays out all the conversations he rehearsed last night in his head. He’s sucking in a deep breath, right outside of the kitchen, when Scott stops and squeezes his hand.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?” Isaac nods, but Scott doesn’t seem convinced. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be right here.”

Isaac pauses, squeezing Scott’s hand one last time before putting on a smile. He says, “Who said anything about being worried?” And then he’s the one leading the way into the kitchen. In hindsight, this seemed like a very good move to let Scott know that Isaac was totally fine with the whole Meeting His Mom situation, but once Isaac is in the room, faced with both Stiles and Mrs. McCalls’ stares, he instantly regrets leaving Scott’s side a few feet back.

He knows that Scott is just rounding the corner, but Isaac can feel the words crawling out of his mouth. And wow, yeah, he probably looks stupid with these flowers in his hand and Derek’s shirt bagging up at the shoulders. He says, “Hi. Um, I’m Isaac.” And he’s trying to smile, but he’s pretty positive that he just looks as nervous as he feels.

Scott’s by his side just as Mrs. McCall gives Isaac an amused grin. She says, “Hi, Isaac. I’m Melissa. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her voice sounds much stronger than Isaac’s, but it’s not threatening. In fact, Isaac thinks it’s welcoming, that it lightens the mood. Melissa has Scott’s eyes, too, the same size and shade of brown. Scott looks a lot like his mother, Isaac realizes. He sees it in the color of their hair and Melissa’s almost-grin. Isaac takes comfort in that fact. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to call Scott’s mom by her first name - especially knowing that Stiles doesn’t - but the introduction makes him breathe a little easier. She takes note of the flowers in his hand and asks, “Are those for me?”

Isaac blinks and looks at the flowers before holding them up and then out, towards her as he steps closer. “Oh, yeah, I just - they’re roses. I know some people don’t like them, but Scott said once that you did, so I thought....” he trails off, rubbing at the back of his neck once the flowers are taken from his hand. Melissa admires them. Isaac watches her, maybe a little too closely as he awaits some kind of response. Before Melissa says anything, she glances as Scott with a small smile.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she says and it’s so sincere that Isaac doesn’t know what to say back.

“Show off,” Stiles mutters as he finishes gathering his things from the kitchen table and makes his exit from the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Melissa asks.

Stiles turns around just barely, already halfway gone. “I have a video chat date with my dad. I’m going to call him from one of the wifi cafe places in town.” He gives the room a goofy grin, pats Scott’s shoulder, and then recovers from an almost-trip on his way down the stairs and out the front door. The minute he’s gone, Melissa raises an eyebrow in Scott’s direction.

“Where’s he really going?”

Scott laughs, but doesn’t answer the question. He’s moving into the kitchen to tend to whatever it is that’s currently on the stove. Isaac suspects pasta considering Scott had said it was the only thing he knows how to cook a few days back. He says to Isaac, “We were thinking of stopping by Laura’s for breakfast tomorrow. Are you still working the morning shift?”

“Yeah,” Isaac says, not really sure who to address. “I’ll definitely be there.”

“It was sweet of you to take off work, Isaac,” Melissa tells him, elbowing Scott as she too leans over the stove. “I told Scott we could wait until tomorrow night, but apparently I’ve been booked solid.”

Scott gives Isaac the absolute dorkiest smile. “We’re going to Pizza Palace tomorrow. And getting ice cream. There’s definitely going to be ice cream.”

Isaac nods, finding it hard not to mirror Scott’s smile. “You should try the Black Cow. It’s right next door. They have the best milkshakes in town. Hands down.”

“The Black Cow it is then,” Melissa says, shooting Isaac a smile. She hands Scott the dish towel she’s holding then and turns towards the stack of plates and silverware on the counter. “Do you want to help me set the table, Isaac?”

Isaac looks around the room, smells the tomato sauce cooking in the pan, feels the warmth from garlic bread in the oven, takes in the faint hum of the music playing from a speaker on the counter beside the sink. Scott is closeby and Melissa is smiling at him. Isaac feels comfortable. He feels, for a split second, that home-sensation he’s read about in books and seen in movies. He feels like he belongs.

“Sure,” he says. And he helps.

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac totally isn’t biased or anything, but Melissa McCall is the actual best.

When Scott goes off on a list of not-so-subtle compliments directed at Isaac, Melissa easily senses Isaac’s face flushing and tells Scott that she’s quite aware of what a hard worker his boyfriend is and, with a wink, that he’s sitting right beside her. They have pasta with tomato sauce and cheese and there’s vegetables of all varieties - steamed and raw - and even garlic bread. Scott looks nervous at first, like he’s not sure if Isaac will be okay with everything, but ten minutes into the meal, Isaac’s getting his second slice of bread and Scott is wearing a pleased grin on his face. Everything is a-okay.

Melissa and Isaac actually end up talking throughout most of the meal with little opportunity for Scott to interject. Melissa has plenty of “horror stories from the ER” and Isaac loves all of them. He’s not going to admit that he’s an injury pro or anything, but he definitely finds humor in guys who fell off their own roofs and came into get various stitches with their wives yelling at them all throughout the procedure. Isaac tells Melissa that he sometimes thinks he wants to be a pediatrician. He’s never actually said that out loud before, but Melissa greets the idea with a smile and tells Isaac that it’s what she originally went to school for.

Isaac also tells Melissa all about Harris Point and the other tourist spots nearby. He surprises himself with how much “useful” information he’s retained over the years. It’s even more surprising that Melissa seems to find all of it interesting. She asks Isaac questions about school and what he likes to do. To which Isaac tells her how he’s recently taken an interest in lacrosse. She shoots Scott an awfully familiar smirk after that remark. Isaac also mentions the diner and talks briefly about Derek and how he teaches Isaac things about cars from time to time.

By the time everyone’s finished with dinner, a light seems to go off in Scott’s head and he says, “There’s ice cream in the freezer downstairs!” He says he’ll be right back and excuses himself from the table with squeeze at Isaac’s shoulder in passing.

Isaac offers to clear the plates, but as he’s standing up to start cleaning up, Melissa says, “Scott talks about you a lot, you know? I think I should be thanking you for keeping him busy.” Melissa’s standing now, too, so they’re both stacking dirty dishes.

Isaac shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on the table. “Oh, it’s... I, um, like talking to him. You don’t have to thank me.”

She laughs softly and Isaac takes her stack of plates and adds it to his own before walking them over to the sink. “No, I guess not, huh? It’s just a mom thing. I’m sure your mom’s done the same thing to you.”

There’s a moment where Isaac thinks about just saying “yes” and moving on, changing the subject like he’s done a thousand times before. But he thinks that maybe Melissa won’t mind if he tells the truth, if he says what he wants to. So he does. “Um... actually, my mom died when I was young.” His voice is quiet and his hand is at the back of his neck before he can stop it. He’s leaning against the sink now, so he doesn’t miss the way Melissa looks up from where she’s picking up dirty forks.

She gives Isaac a look straight in his eyes - soft, apologetic. “I’m sorry to hear that, Isaac.”

He nods, shrugs. “It’s alright.” When Melissa passes him on her way to get three clean spoons, she brushes her hand over Isaac’s shoulder in a motion that Isaac finds comfort in and pauses for a moment, waiting until he reciprocates the upwards turn of her mouth before she carries on. Isaac feels like he understands Scott’s mannerisms much better now that he’s met Melissa. They have the same way of digging those smiles out of Isaac, like it’s the only thing expected of him.

Scott comes bounding up the stairs, back into the kitchen, with a grin on his face and a tub of strawberry ice cream in his arms, cradled like a child. “We have strawberry!” He declares, setting the carton on the counter. When Melissa raises an eyebrow, Scott elaborates, explaining, “Strawberry is Isaac’s favorite.”

“Oh, isn’t that funny,” Melissa says with a crooked smile, passing Scott an ice cream scooper from a drawer Isaac had never even taken notice of before. “Mine too.”

Isaac snickers beneath his breath and says that is funny, says something about great minds thinking alike. It gets another grin out of Melissa so he think he’s doing okay. They eat their ice cream standing around the island in the kitchen, Scott taking a second helping with the explanation that he is a “growing boy”. Isaac smears some of the melted drops on the countertop on Scott’s nose and both he and Melissa roll their eyes when Scott swipes it with his fingers and licks it to spite them.

Danny comes home in the midst of their dessert and greets Melissa with a one-armed hug, wandering off to his room a few minutes later with a plate of leftover pasta. Scott launches into telling his mom about Danny's part-time job at a music store for the summer, asking Isaac every now and again for fact-checks on street locations and names of various stores. Scott talks about how he looked into getting a job at the animal shelter, but the workers didn't seem too friendly. Melissa rolls her eyes when he explains that the scratch on his cheek is from a cat at the shelter, but she laughs when Isaac says, "In Scott's defense, he was handed said cat directly after bath time. It was an unfair trial."

By the time the ice cream is finished and Isaac sees the clock inching closer and closer to nine thirty, Melissa is stretching her arms slightly in front of her and saying, “Well, boys, I don’t mean to be a drag, but I think I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Scott looks up from where he’s currently trying to keep Isaac away from the dishwasher, preventing him from helping. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she tells him. Melissa then digs into her purse on the counter and pulls out her car keys, holding them out to be dropped into Scott’s palm. “You should give Isaac a ride home. I think it’s going to rain.”

Isaac opens his mouth before he can stop himself. “Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have -"

“It’s not a big deal.” She smiles up at him and Isaac suddenly doesn’t know how to stand or what to do with his arms. “It was really nice meeting you, Isaac.”

“You too,” He says and he tries to make it sound meaningful like Scott and Melissa seem to do so easily. He wants to make it sound like a thank you because it’s what he really should be saying. Isaac thinks maybe the message gets through because Melissa’s smiling at him, soft and subtle and he thinks that’s maybe a way of saying “you’re welcome”.

Scott says goodnight as she passes him by and they share a look that Isaac can’t really decode, but once she’s gone, Scott turns towards Isaac with this huge smile and closes the distance between them in a few strides. He’s shaking his head, laughing a little bit from under his breath and Isaac just knows that he must still look a little shaken because Scott’s rubbing his thumbs gently over his cheeks in that soothing way that teaches Isaac to breathe again. He leans close to Isaac, kissing him once before he says, “You were great.”

And Isaac laughs. “You want to know something?” When Scott nods, Isaac inhales, fingers seeking comfort in the skin beneath Scott’s tee shirt. “I really like your mom.”

Scott echoes his laugh and when he kisses Isaac, all he tastes is strawberry ice cream.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac’s dad isn’t home when Scott drops him off. He kisses Scott goodbye in the driveway and unloads his bike from the trunk, all while glancing around for any sight of his father, but he never shows up. That is, until around midnight. Isaac gets a text message from Scott that says: “My mom just got up for a glass of water and told me to stop texting my Disney Prince Boyfriend and get some sleep” and he’s smiling at the screen like an idiot when the front door opens and then clicks shut several seconds later.

The footsteps that drag up the stairs are slow and heavy. They sound through the hall, carrying their vibrations to Isaac’s room, where he sinks into the sheets and peeks out of one opened eye. His dad doesn’t stop, however, just keeps moving, mumbling drunkenly to himself in angry slurs. He slams shut the door to his own bedroom and Isaac exhales sharply.

He replies to Scott that he should sleep, that Isaac is a bad influence. Scott replies: “You’re my favorite bad influence.”

Isaac sleeps curled around his phone that night.

********  
  
  
  
  


****

Isaac gets dressed Saturday morning in his nicest pair of jeans and his favorite shirt from the Laura’s Diner merchandise collection. It’s purple with a surfing wolf on it that Derek always rolls his eyes at, says he can’t stand, but refuses to get rid of. Everyone pretends like they don’t know why, pretends they don’t know it was Laura’s original design. Isaac fixes his hair, fishes a granola bar out of the pantry, and texts Scott a good morning message all before seven AM. He pretty much wants to give himself a gold star on account of his time management.

Isaac forgets to factor one thing into his schedule, though. He forgets to think about his father, whose blood is boiling already as he comes down the stairs and finds Isaac in the kitchen. Isaac only realizes how much his father must have drank last night when he takes in his morning-state - rumpled clothing from the night before, head down as he walks, jaw clenched. His dad has never handled his hangovers well. Isaac knows better than anyone.

His father doesn’t yell, not at first. He bites out his words at Isaac, speaking through his teeth. His eyes are narrowed and his hands grip the edge of the counter and Isaac tries to steady his heartbeat with the reminder that Scott and Melissa and hell, even Derek, are just a few blocks away. He maintains as much distance as possible, inching closer and closer to the door with each passing second. He can make it out the door. Then make it to his bike. Then make it to the diner. Easy. Simple.

Except he doesn’t. He doesn’t make it to the diner.

Isaac is thisclose to the door when his father asks - or rather demands - a glass of water. When Isaac makes an excuse that he has to get to work, he turns from the trashcan to be met by his father’s fist, crashing into the side of his face. It’s not so bad, Isaac rationalizes. There’s been worse.

But then his dad is pushing him into the floor, hitting him in the same spot over and over until Isaac can’t think straight, can’t breathe. And he hears himself yelling something - maybe stop, a final plea for mercy - but he doesn’t remember opening his mouth. Isaac’s arms are hardly a decent shield over his face, but he manages to exhaust his father after a good twenty minutes of shoving and pulling and slamming into anything and everything. That’s when his dad picks him up by the collar of his shirt and shoves him in the direction of the basement.

There’s an endless stream of words from his dad’s mouth, ones that Isaac has heard millions of times before. Isaac takes everything for granted. Isaac doesn’t deserve to have the charmed life he does. Isaac needs to grow up. Isaac needs to get over himself.

This time when Isaac hears the words, there’s a voice in his head that tells him his father is wrong. And that voice sounds a hell of a lot like Scott.

Isaac’s stumbling down the stairs and he’s listening to that voice, clinging to it like it’s a candle in a dark cave. Isaac receives a blow to the chest, a shove that knocks him again to the ground. When he closes his eyes, the voice gets louder. Scott had told Isaac he was funny, that he thought Isaac was cute and kind. Isaac thinks of Melissa and the way she had brushed her hand over his shoulder, the way she and Scott had laughed at his stories with their dancing brown eyes.

When he curls in on himself in the freezer, knees bent and arms around his chest, Isaac inhales and lets Scott’s words warm him from the inside out. It’s a spark - small and bright, buried deep in his chest. But it’s enough.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Here is something Isaac’s learned over the past few years: once his dad leaves home, Isaac has obtained a Get Out of Jail Free card. He hears the front door click open and then slam shut around noon after a solid five hours of periodically peeking out from the freezer between sporadic breathing fits. It’s not an easy thing to be bent in a misshapen way in that cramped up box for so long.

Once his dad is gone, Isaac stands and stretches, stepping out of the freezer slowly. The days when his father leaves the freezer unlocked are like his birthday and Christmas rolled into one. The entire right side of his face feels numb and when Isaac pokes at it, he can’t help but cringe. The bruise is dark red, he discovers when he looks in the mirror to assess the damage. It’s not terribly big, but it’s heavy and rests in an odd shape at the corner of his jaw.

With his legs still adjusting to being out of their confined position, Isaac climbs the stairs of the basement to recover his phone from the kitchen. Two missed calls, the screen informs him - one from Erica, one from Scott. Isaac rubs his hand across his forehead, breathing deeply before hitting the number four on his speed dial. Erica picks up in a matter of seconds.

“Forget about your morning shift?” She asks upon greeting. There are faint voices in the background, sounds of the diner at a distance. “Derek’s all pissy today. He’s been going crazy waiting for you to show.”

Isaac is walking out the front door as he listens to her, wrangling his bike from the bushes with his free hand. “I um... got held up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you alright?”

“M’fine,” he mutters, sighing as the words escape. “Tell Derek I’ll work through my lunch tomorrow or something. I can’t make it today.”

“I’ll tell him, but he’s not going to be happy about it.” She pauses for a moment and then adds, “I think he’s worried about you.”

“Good one,” Isaac says, but he feels the guilt gnawing at his sides.

“Scott and his mom were here, by the way. Lydia said he asked about you.”

“What did she say?”

“That you weren’t feeling well. Were you supposed to meet him?”

Isaac’s hands fidget with the handles of his bike as he mounts it. He closes his eyes, breathes in. “Can we talk tomorrow? I have to call him.”

“We can, yeah. I’ll hold you to it.”

Despite himself, Isaac smiles crookedly against the speaker of his phone. He says goodbye to Erica and hangs up quickly, his fingers already flying across the screen to find Scott’s name. The three dial tones it takes for Scott to pick up are Isaac’s last few deep breaths, a last chance to salvage some story of a stomach flu, to plan out his apology. Scott answers with a bright, “Hey.” Isaac breathes again. Scott’s voice is fresh air.

“I’m the worst,” Isaac tells him, laughing bitterly as he trains his eyes on the ground.

“No, you’re not,” Scott corrects. “Are you feeling okay? Your friend Lydia said you were sick.”

“I had a headache. I’m fine now, just needed to sleep it off. Does your mom officially hate me?”

Scott laughs. “Hardly. I think she’s considering leaving me here forever and taking you back to Beacon Hills. No joke.” There’s a voice that comes through, too faint for Isaac to make out, but when Scott laughs again, Isaac realizes it must be Melissa. “Do you want to go to the beach? We’re in town now, looking for sunglasses. You should come, you know, to make up for this morning.” There’s a joking tone in his voice that makes Isaac smile.

“I’ll be there.”

“Yeah? Great! Breaker’s sound good? You can meet us there.” When Isaac agrees, already beginning the journey from his driveway, Scott hangs up with a short goodbye, full of excitement. He’s going to be the death of Isaac. It’s inevitable.

****

 

********  
  
  
  
  


Isaac parks his bike on a rack a few feet from Breaker’s around twelve thirty and makes his way to the shop while running his fingers through his hair about ten thousand times. He wants to laugh at himself for being so self conscious, but he figures if Erica and Lydia were helping him again, they’d be messing with his hair as well, trying to make it look presentable.

The shop isn’t too big and Isaac’s been in it a thousand times before, so he finds Scott in about thirty seconds. He’s separated from his mom, looking at the longboards on display and turning their wheels with bright eyes. Isaac doesn’t mean to pull a total Derek and watch from around the corner, but the look on Scott’s face is so open, so warm that it makes Isaac stop. He’s moving again as soon as he realizes how weird he must look, coming up behind Scott and sliding his hands tentatively over his sides. Scott jumps, turns immediately, and then breaks into a wild grin.

“Hey,” he laughs. He greets Isaac with a kiss, his fingers dancing over Isaac’s palms all the while. Scott is still beaming when he pulls away. “That was fast.”

“I’m an experienced biker,” Isaac explains. “I’m locally famous.”

Scott shakes his head and Isaac revels in the way his eyes widen slightly when he laughs. But the laughter is short lived and Scott’s lips are suddenly curving downwards, slightly parted in question. His fingers travel from Isaac’s hand to his face, turning Isaac’s head slightly so that he can fully see the right side of his jaw. Isaac swallows thickly. Maybe Scott won’t ask. This one is nowhere nearly as bad as the last after all and it doesn’t even come close to the scratches Isaac had that first day in the bathroom.

Scott is quiet, but his mouth remains open, just barely. He drops his hand from Isaac’s face after a few moments, staring up at him with a look Isaac’s never seen before. There’s something fierce there, like anger bubbling up. And it scares Isaac, chills him completely. The silence eats away at him and Isaac is having trouble being faced only with that hardening stare on Scott’s face.

“I....” He chokes out, but nothing follows. Isaac shakes his head at himself, trying to keep his eyes on the floor, unable to continue holding Scott’s stare. He tries again. “It’s - don’t worry about it.” His voice is quiet, scratchy, unfamiliar. Isaac wants to apologize, wants to say something that will wipe that look off Scott’s face.

Scott’s jaw sets and when he opens his mouth, Isaac braces himself for the worst. But Scott doesn’t yell, doesn’t beat Isaac down, he just asks in a low voice, “Isaac, who’s doing this to you?” Isaac doesn’t know how to answer that, doesn’t know what to say. He should say he picked another fight, but he doubts Scott would believe it. He definitely didn’t buy it at Danny’s party. When he doesn’t get an answer, Scott runs his hand through his hair and tries again, voice even lower this time. “Isaac, _please_ , just tell me what’s going on.”

Isaac looks up and finds Scott’s eyes still on him, wide and unsure and still harnessing that anger that makes Isaac’s skin prickle. There’s desperation, too, and it’s evident in Scott’s voice, ringing clear. But Isaac doesn’t know what to say. Derek had asked what he was more afraid of: lying or telling the truth. And Isaac maybe hadn’t known a week ago, but staring the options down now, he knows for sure.

“ _Isaac_ ,” Scott pleads again. “If there’s something going on with Derek -”

Isaac feels his eyes widen, his head shaking immediately at the words. There’s a laugh that escapes his lips, but the sound is bitter and a little watery. It stings coming out of his throat. “Jesus,” he mumbles. “Derek wouldn’t - he wouldn’t do that. It’s nothing, Scott, can’t we just....” Isaac makes a motion with hands, about as readable as his lingering sentences. His throat feels dry, his fingers shaking as he folds his arms around himself. “Just forget about it.”

Scott looks as if Isaac’s just suggested a third world war. “I’m not going to forget about it, Isaac. I can’t....” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. Scott takes a deep breath before he continues. “I can’t keep standing by while this happens to you.”

From the register at the far end of the store, Isaac hears Melissa’s voice. He realizes, looking at the pained expression on Scott’s face, that he’s done something horrible. He’s dragged Scott into his shit. He’s torn him apart without meaning to. God, what is he supposed to say? How is he supposed to apologize for that? _Sorry I ruined almost a month of your summer by making you worry about me. Maybe July won’t be so fucked up._

Isaac doesn’t say that, however. What he does say is, “I should go.” And he does, leaving Scott wide eyed and open mouthed in the aisle of Breaker’s. Scott tells him to stay, but Isaac pretends not to hear it.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kind words and the patience! Warning: this might hurt. (Get it, eh? Anyone?) Enjoy!

Isaac sits in the bathroom for three hours with the shower running. He doesn’t know when his dad gets home, doesn’t notice his car pull into the driveway, but he doesn’t care. He sits with his back against the wall, wearing only his boxers, pressing his fingers into the bruise on his jaw. From beneath the pile of clothes to his side, Isaac’s phone buzzes twice. He never picks up.

Isaac thinks about the doctors he saw when he was a kid. He thinks about the trick they taught him about diverting the pain. Create the ache somewhere else, they said. But no matter how much Isaac prods at the bruise, his chest doesn’t feel any lighter. Breathing doesn’t become any easier. No matter what he tries, Isaac still feels like he’s drowning whenever he thinks of the look in Scott’s eyes this afternoon.  

“ _It would suck a lot less if you were there._ ”

Scott doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Isaac’s flakiness, his unreliability and shaky hands. Scott deserves a better summer, a better friend to keep him company. He deserves someone who won’t lie to him or hide things from him, who can tell him how they feel without straining themselves for the right words.

“ _I like your nose and forehead just the way they are._ ”

Here is why Isaac is bad for Scott: Isaac can’t leave the house without checking for blemishes. He can’t introduce Scott to a loving family like he did with Melissa. He can’t invite him over for dinner, can’t even let him near the house if his dad is home. He can’t let Scott in without tearing him down.

“ _I just don’t want you to get hurt._ ”

Here is why Isaac is bad for Scott: Isaac knows himself, knows all of his flaws, and he still decided that he would let Scott put up with him these past few weeks. He let himself be put under the label of “boyfriend” because suddenly he was something to somebody. And not just somebody, but Scott McCall, who held his hand and kissed him gently, and ran his fingers through Isaac’s hair in a way that made his breath hitch and gave him hope for tomorrow. Isaac let himself be adored by a boy who deserved the world. He should have saved Scott the trouble, should have broken it off after that night on the pier. It was clear then and there that Scott was too good for him, that he was a force of his own accord and Isaac didn’t stand a chance. But he was drawn to the way Scott actually cared about the stories about Camden and the way he said “I’m sorry” and meant it. He was drawn to Scott because he was everything Isaac had ever dreamed a person could be and then some.

“ _You’re important to me._ ”

Isaac turns off the shower with a twist of his arm, a sharp pull from the wrist. He steadies himself with a hand against the wall, another running through his hair, pulling it at the ends. He can hear his father downstairs, the cabinets opening and shutting. Isaac feels his hands ball into fists on instinct.

“ _I can’t keep standing by while this happens to you._ ”

Here is why Isaac is bad for Scott: he’s too afraid to let go.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Scott leaves two messages. Isaac reads the alert on the screen of his phone with half lidded eyes, completely hidden under the covers of his bed. It’s pushing one in the morning and these messages have been here for a while: the first from about an hour after Isaac feld the shop and the second from around six. Isaac’s never really fancied himself a masochist. He’s never been one to hold down the blister until it bleeds out, to seek pain where pain doesn’t belong. Actually, he’s always tried to rid himself of the hurt, to escape it as much as possible. But he listens to Scott’s messages knowing well in advance what they’re going to do to him.

“Isaac,” Scott’s voice comes through. It sounds strained, on the verge of breaking. Isaac closes his eyes. “Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t... mean to push it, I just....” Scott exhales, causing a muffling noise on the other end. He hesitates and Isaac tries to picture him, standing on the boardwalk or the beach, away from the crowd. “Call me back, okay?”

The first message cuts off and Isaac opens his eyes. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

"Hey," Comes Scott's voice again. He's speaking a little softer this time. "It's Scott... again.” Isaac wants to laugh at that. He wants Scott to laugh at that, to shake his head at himself with that laid back grin like he’s always doing. But he doesn’t and Isaac can’t find it in himself to smile when Scott’s saying what he is in that quiet voice. “My mom went home. They were short-staffed at the hospital, needed her for the night. She said goodbye, to you, or um... she told me to tell you.” He pauses again, this time for a few seconds longer. Isaac wonders what he told Melissa when Isaac “never showed” for lunch or to head to the beach. Scott probably said he still wasn’t feeling well, probably said it with an apologetic smile. He wouldn’t want to worry Melissa, drag her into Isaac’s crap; Scott’s nowhere nearly as selfish as Isaac is.

“Are you... are you mad at me because I don’t - I don’t even know what happened. I just freaked out and I shouldn’t have, maybe, but I only did it because you’re so important to me and you were hurt and.... I’m so sorry, Isaac. About whatever’s happening to you. I’m so sorry, and I’m sorry you can’t tell me but... you don’t have to hide anything from me. You don’t have be scared, if that’s what’s happening. I only want to help. I just want you to _talk_ to me.” Scott takes a deep breath and Isaac listens closely, squeezing the phone in his hand. “I’m gonna, um... I’m going to stop talking now. Call me back. Please, Isaac.”

There’s a voice in his phone that tells him he’s heard all of the new messages. Isaac takes a few moments to lower his phone from his ear and curl it into his palm. His eyes unfocus, encompassed by the darkness under the sheets, but there’s something that stings there, too. Isaac fell on the playground when he was six. His dad wasn’t so bad then, he had even fixed up Isaac’s knee with a bandaid, told him to be careful. He might have even smiled crookedly, but the memory is fuzzy in Isaac’s head. He does remember asking why it hurt so bad, why the cut stung so much. When he didn’t get an answer, Isaac launched into a dramatic rant about how there had never been a cut in the world that hurt as badly as this one and that no one had ever hurt as much as Isaac did right then and there. His mother had laughed, a grin on her face. She said, “That’s not what real pain feels like, sweetheart. The real pain,” she explained, pointing at Isaac’s chest, right above his heart, “It comes from in here.”

His dad had rolled his eyes and shortly thereafter there was screaming and they had to leave the playground so that his parents could continue screaming in the car and then at home. But Isaac understood what his mom meant. Scott’s message was a blow more severe than the one to Isaac’s jaw.

The cuts that hurt the most are the ones you can’t see.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


****

****

It’s four in the morning and Isaac is awake, an hour and a half of sleep under his belt, thinking of ways to disappear without anyone noticing. In the tenth grade, he thought about drowning himself, got pretty damn close, too. He thought it would be a better way to go than the kid from down the street, the one who’d overdosed on sleeping pills before his senior year. Isaac wondered how long it would take for his dad to notice he was gone. He doesn’t remember why he didn’t go through with it. Maybe it was because of Erica - that was only a few short months after she marched into his life, after all. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be the hundredth person in Derek’s life to leave him without a goodbye. Maybe he was too scared. Or maybe he just didn’t want his dad to win.

It’s five thirty in the morning and Isaac’s legs are beginning to itch. He gets dressed with his phone nudged between his shoulder and his ear, Scott’s messages playing for the second time. Isaac wonders, in his sleep deprived haze, how it’s possible that Scott can be the clarity, the sanity for him while all Isaac does is cause him distress. It’s the kind of thing people write poems about. Or songs. But Isaac isn’t creative and even if he were, he’d just end up throwing up the words he wants to say rather than composing them. He leaves the house before the sun rises and takes his bike to the beach. The sand is cool, the water calm, and the sky above is lightening with every moment that passes. Isaac plays the messages a third time. “ _I’m so sorry_.”

It’s seven in the morning and Isaac is swinging open the front door of Laura’s, head down, eyes trained on the floor. He has listened to Scott’s messages six times now, scrambled his apologies in his head, unwound them and opened them up to try and find the reason behind them. He’s dissected them, laid out the bones and the veins, strung his sentences out and hung them up on his wall, word by word. But he just keeps coming up empty handed. Isaac hears the words bouncing off the walls, ringing in his ears. The tile on the floor looks blue rather than white and the pictures on the wall are fuzzy. There’s something like a buzzing noise in the back of his head alongside the sound of fists meeting skin and the voice that keeps saying, _I’m so sorry, Isaac._

When Isaac looks up, or maybe he’s looking straight, Derek is standing in front of him, hands on Isaac's shoulders and, hey, since when did that happen? Since when was Derek there?

“Isaac,” Derek says. It isn’t the first time he’s said his name judging by the tone. “Isaac.”

_I’m so sorry, Isaac._

Isaac takes in a deep breath. Erica and Boyd are a few feet back, both looking on with slightly widened eyes. Lydia isn’t looking directly at him, but off to the side, eyebrows drawn together. There’s a few moments where Isaac blinks and breathes and shakes the voices from his head. Maybe he’s losing it, once and for all.

“I’m okay,” he says finally, but even he doesn’t believe it.

Derek huffs. He drops his arms from Isaac’s shoulders and says, “You want me to believe that?” Isaac chews at his lip, doesn’t answer. The silence between them is thickening, tightening until it’s a noose tied around all of their necks. Erica looks ready to finally hang from hers when Derek mumbles, “Is that bruise on your chin the reason you missed your shift yesterday?”

Isaac laughs, but it hurts crawling its way out of his chest. “You want to pretend to care now?” It’s a low blow and Isaac knows it, but maybe he’s a little bit of a monster, after all. What’s that saying about apples falling from trees?

Derek’s face hardens before his eyes - his jaw sets and his eyes narrow and his shoulders lower slightly with the deep breath he lets out. “Are you drunk, Isaac? Or are you just here to chew us out?” Isaac says nothing, but he can feel his hand balling and un-balling in and out of fists. The room is coming together a little better now and the noises in his head are dulling to a static. Derek is close to him, inches away. His eyes are almost green; Isaac’s never noticed before. “You can sleep it off in the back,” he says finally, voice so low that Isaac wonders if Erica and Boyd can hear him. “Go, Isaac.”

So, Isaac goes, a little uneven in his walking, a little shaken beneath Erica and Boyd’s stares. But he goes, buries himself deep into the supply closet. There’s a space just big enough for Isaac to completely stretch out beneath one of the far shelves. It’s sort of like being beneath the beams of the boardwalk since the shelf is so high above him. There’s a mat, not terribly thick, but at least it’s something. Isaac’s stayed here a few times over the years. A hideout of sorts. Derek bought the mat after the second time.

“If you’re going to be staying here,” he mad muttered, laying it down after Isaac had sprained his ankle falling down the stairs, “then you can quit acting like a stray animal and sleep on something real.” Isaac had told his father he was at a birthday party that night. It was shocking enough that his dad had believed him, the mat was just another ringer for the day.

“Thanks,” Isaac said quietly, bobbing his head as he did so.

He thought he saw Derek’s mouth twist upwards as he left the supply room, but he couldn’t quite be sure in the dark.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac wakes up at twelve thirty to a hand nudging at his shoulder, fingers poking into the exposed skin from his tee shirt. Isaac groans, but opens his eyes nonetheless to find Erica, crouched down beside the mat. She smiles and Isaac is beyond comforted to see it’s the same cheeky grin she’s always giving him instead of the weird look on her face she had earlier this morning when he was talking to Derek.

“Morning sunshine,” she deadpans. When Isaac throws an arm over his eyes, sighing into his elbow, Erica laughs. “Derek let you sleep in an extra thirty minutes. He was originally going to wake you up for the entire lunch shift."

"How generous," Isaac mumbles into his arm.

"You feeling better?"

"I feel fine.”

"Well, you weren't 'fine' earlier, so...." Isaac lifts his arm from his eyes and fixes Erica with a defeated look. It's half hearted, though. Isaac doesn't have the energy to argue. He scoots out from the space beneath the self and moves to sit next to Erica so that they're both on the floor with their legs stretched out before them. They're quiet for a few moments, the steady sound of the AC rumbling above them. Then Erica says, "What happened?"

"Nothing," he answers dismissively.

" _Isaac_."

Isaac looks at Erica, trying to unscramble the mess in his head. He’s exhausted himself simply by being tired. And he’s being dramatic and stupid and he knows Scott’s probably called him already this morning, but Erica’s invitation seems so welcoming. She says “talk to me” without uttering the words, her eyes heavy on Isaac’s face. So, Isaac does. He talks. He says, “I think I screwed up. With Scott. I think I, um... made a mistake.”

“Everyone screws up sometimes,” she tells him with a shrug. “Boyd screws up _a lot_ and so do I. But you can’t tell him I said that.”

Isaac, despite himself, smiles towards the ground. Maybe it’s better to leave it at that, to not correct Erica and let her think that everything’s going to blow over, that all of this is because of a stupid fight. It is, after all. Except the fight wasn’t between Scott and Isaac, but rather Isaac and his father. And it wasn’t really a fight, but an opportunity for his dad to use Isaac as some kind of sickly pale canvas, to cover with spots and slashes in any way he pleased.

“You want to know what I think, though?” Erica asks, shooting an honest to God smile in Isaac’s direction. “I think no matter what you did, Scott will forgive you. He seems like one of those annoyingly wonderful people in that way.”

Isaac huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he sort of is.” And Isaac agrees  with her: Scott probably _will_ forgive him for the shop, he’ll probably apologize again like he did in the message, but that in itself is terrifying to Isaac. Isaac doesn’t deserve Scott’s forgiveness or his patience. And Isaac can’t let himself think he does. He’s done enough damage as it is.

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac works the entire afternoon shift without a word spoken to Boyd, Lydia, or Derek. They all tiptoe around him, though, like he might break if they say the wrong thing. The worst one out of everyone is Derek, who spends the majority of his afternoon cleaning out the bathrooms and ignoring Isaac completely. By the time the dinner crowd is settling in, Isaac’s caught his eyes twice on his way back to grab some clean dish rags, but Derek has said nothing. Isaac tries to apologize, but the words are hard to say when he’s nearly positive Derek doesn’t want to hear them.

The crowd is constantly buzzing since it’s a Sunday - families of three to eight in the afternoon coming from church and the beach, and large touring groups of anywhere from four to twelve in the evening. Isaac learns a thousand names, looks at a thousand faces, and slaps on a smile that pushes him through the afternoon a little easier. He’s grateful for the people, these ones he’ll never see again. They keep his mind from drifting to Scott and his phone and the message and the _I’m so sorry, Isaac_. But they don’t stop him completely from glancing at the front door in two minute intervals.

Isaac can’t decide, at the end of the day, if he’s relieved or disappointed that Scott didn’t show up to throw his apologies at Isaac in person. Maybe Scott doesn’t want to see him anymore. Maybe he woke up and realized he was wrong for apologizing. Maybe he finally saw what Isaac saw.

“You don’t have to close up,” Derek mutters as he passes by the bar, which Isaac is wiping down. “You should get out early.”

“I showed up late.”

“No, you were here on time. You just had a late start,” Derek corrects, gathering the empty ketchup bottles to be refilled. Lydia cut out around seven and Boyd took Erica out for a “late date night” about twenty minutes ago, so their voices are the only sounds to be heard in the quiet of the diner.

“I’m closing. Non negotiable.”

Isaac tries not to revel in the tiny grin he manages to squeeze out of Derek. They work at opposite ends of the diner for a good twenty minutes - Isaac stacking chairs on top of tables and wiping down the floor once he’s finished with that while Derek loads up the last of the dishes and moves all of the condiments back into the supply closet. It’s that time of night when the diner’s odor is less polluted by maple syrup and bacon and more so by cleaning products and lemon-scented soap. Isaac doesn’t mind either smell, really, but his favorite days are the ones in winter when Laura’s isn’t too crowded and it’s windy outside and wafts of salty air blow in through the doors. Isaac could breathe in that air for hours.

Isaac grabs his things from the supply closet and leans the mat against the far wall once he’s done with the floor. When he emerges from the closet, Derek is standing behind the register with his eyes set straight forward, locked on Isaac.

“Are you going to tell me what happened on this morning?”

Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. “I already talked to Erica.”

Derek rolls his eyes, pushing the register closed as he does so. “So, you want me to believe that was nothing?” Isaac is quiet. He shrugs because what else is he supposed to say? He’d be fine if Derek believed everything he said. It’s a little exhausting being called on his shit every now and again by Derek and Erica and.... God, he’s sick of that knot in his stomach. _I’m so sorry, Isaac_. “If you need me to talk to someone-”

“Derek,” Isaac says finally. “Less than a year. I have _less than a year_ and I’m out of here. It’s fine. I’m _fine_. I don’t need you to do anything _for me_ , okay?” He’s practically biting the words out, but he’s so tired of trying to convince everyone that he can do this alone. He’s been doing this alone. It’s suffocating to sit in the darkness of the freezer and listen to his father’s footsteps above in the kitchen, but trying to describe that feeling to someone out loud - well, that’s the most terrifying thought Isaac’s ever had.

Derek is quiet for a few long moments, moving empty glasses into a line on the counter. He shakes his head slightly before he speaks. “I just can’t have you missing work during the busiest time of the year.”

Isaac feels the corners of his mouth twist upwards. He doesn’t say thank you or _don’t be worried_ , Derek because Derek wouldn’t get that, wouldn’t understand the straightforward appreciation. So, instead, Isaac says, “I wouldn’t leave you to have to smile at all of those strangers by yourself.”

He swears Derek actually laughs as he heads back into the kitchen. He says goodnight in a mumble and Isaac calls one back to him as he turns to duck out of the front door. The bike ride home takes a little under ten minutes as usual and Isaac spends all of those ten minutes thinking about the weight of his phone in his pocket. He’s had it off all day, not wanting an actual, physical reminder of what he’s doing to Scott by ignoring him. God, Isaac almost wants to turn at the crosswalk in front of his street and head left until he hits Scott’s place.

He could ring the doorbell and Scott would answer and he would maybe even smile when he saw Isaac if Isaac was lucky and they could pretend like nothing happened. They could watch the last movie from their zombie marathon and eat popcorn and microwaved chicken fingers that Stiles had left on the counter. And Scott could kiss Isaac’s forehead like he’s taken to doing, right in the center. And Isaac could make Scott laugh and they could talk quietly when Danny had to go to bed to get up early for work. And Isaac could kiss Scott, could whisper apologies into his lips.

“I’m so sorry, Scott,” he could say. “I’m so, so sorry.”

And maybe Scott could tell him that it’s okay, that Isaac doesn’t have to worry, that he doesn’t have to feel trapped or scared or the ten thousand other things he feels all at once when he’s home alone. Because Scott is his remedy to the darkness. Scott is his light.

But Isaac can’t let him be. Not anymore.

The house is dark when Isaac leans his bike against the garage. He opens the door slowly and steps carefully up the stairs, to his room, where he peels his tee shirt from his chest and steps out of his jeans. He powers on his phone while lying back against his bed. His dad’s shower is running down the hall. Isaac pretends not to hear it, but with every passing second the sounds increase - Isaac can hear everything, every move his dad makes.

Isaac lasts five minutes before he’s off his bed, moving towards his closet. He sits inside, closes the thin doors and digs his laptop out from beneath a pile of school books. From his backpack - the one he’s been using all summer - he pulls out a CD with messy manuscript scribbled on its front. “Harris Point - Isaac’s Fav Songs” it reads, with a little smiley face drawn to the side. It takes a minute for Isaac to turn on his computer and then load the CD in, but once it’s ready to listen to, he has his headphones in and his head leaned back against the wall. The music is soft and quiet at first, but there’s a wide variety of songs, and they all make Isaac curl a lighter tighter into himself in the back of the closet. He remembers the third song, remembers telling Scott to turn it up, but then immediately doing it himself and hearing laughter spill from the other side of the car.

Isaac watches the screen on his phone blink to life as the music continues to play, the only sound to be heard through his ears.

 _Two new messages_ , the screen reads. Isaac breathes. The first message is from this afternoon and the second is from about an hour later. Under Scott’s name, in those judgemental black letters, the messages say:

- _We don’t have to talk about it now, if you’re not ready to._

- _You don’t have to call me back, just tell me you’re okay. Please, Isaac._

Isaac reads the messages and then re-reads them, chewing on his lip a little harder as he does so. Scott’s trying to negotiate his way into a conversation with Isaac and God, if that doesn’t make him feel like shit. Isaac turns his phone upside down so that the screen is facing into the floor. He leans his head back again and draws his knees to his chest. The music plays and Isaac reminds himself of Harris Point, of a day with Scott when he was still pretending like he knew what the hell he was doing.

The song comes to a close and another one rolls through his headphones. Isaac remembers this one, as well, remembers the way Scott had mumbled along to the chorus, the words coming out confidently, but softly all the same. They’d heard it a few minutes into the drive.

Isaac opens his eyes and picks his phone off the floor. He stares at Scott’s contact information on the screen, the letters glowing brightly in the dark of the closet. Isaac hovers his thumb over the call button, the little green one that stares at him, pleading to be pressed down upon. He owes is it to Scott to at least confirm he’s okay. Actually, he owes a lot to Scott and the debt that he’s piled up in these past three weeks is sort of astounding.

Isaac doesn’t call, though. Because he’s going to re-train himself to be alone. He’s going to learn how to stand on his own again. It shouldn’t be so hard. It was a little short of a month that Scott was behind him, pulling him up when he was down, but Isaac can do it. He can learn how... if he ever really knew how to do it in the first place.

He falls asleep that night with something sinister twisting in his chest and his phone curled tightly in his grip.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Monday morning is nothing shy of gray. It’s raining when Isaac wakes up, but it clears in about twenty minutes, leaving the pavement sticky and the air humid. Isaac feels sweat gathering at the base of his neck on his ride to Laura’s and inside the diner, Erica is leaning her elbows on the bar, face directly in front of a small fan. It’s a heat wave that intensifies the dull ringing in Isaac’s ears. Derek seems on edge by the heat throughout the entire breakfast shift, gritting his teeth at anyone who takes longer than ten seconds to get their order out. Lydia finally tells him to switch with Isaac and take over the bathrooms, which he does, but begrudgingly.

Isaac swears he sees Derek check his phone at least three times throughout the afternoon, but he’s not going to make much of it. He’s too exhausted simply from lifting trays and coffee pots in the heat to really hold a conversation, anyways. At least he figured it was the heat and not from the lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. But then Erica says to him, “God, you look like hell, buddy,” and Isaac realizes maybe he played over that Harris Point CD a few too many times.

By the time it’s his lunch break, Isaac is a little sick of smelling like burnt pancakes and being alone with his thoughts and the ever-vocal customers of Laura’s, so he walks a few blocks to the park and takes a seat on one of the playground’s swings. The heat gets to him inside the diner, makes him bothered by things he never minded before. Outside, the air feels a little light. It’s still unfathomably hot and the sun is beating hard against his back, but Isaac closes his eyes and breathe deeply. There’s no one else at the park, everyone seeming to have taken shelter indoors for the day, taking refuge in their homes or at air conditioned buildings like Laura’s.

Isaac wonders what Scott is doing.

He slides his phone out of his pocket and into his hand, switching it on only to see that Scott’s contact information is still on display. Isaac swallows, runs a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat, and presses the green call button. It’s a rush, hearing that dial tone with the phone pressed to his ear. And it’s only a second before Scott answers, but it’s enough time for Isaac to think about everything wrong he’s ever done wrong. When Scott’s voice comes through - a breathed, “Isaac?” - Isaac swears his heart stops.

“Um.... Hey Scott,” he wills himself to squeeze out. The words sound strained and Isaac knows Scott can tell.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” There’s something in Scott’s voice that sounds a lot like he’s trying his best not to freak out at Isaac. Isaac recognizes it from the messages Scott left, from their conversation in Breaker’s. That familiar guilt settles inside Isaac’s chest.

“I’m, yeah, I’m fine. I just... wanted to talk to you.” And that’s the truth, as much as it hurts to say. Because Isaac wants to talk to Scott even if he doesn’t have the right words to say. He wants to be allowed to share in the light in Scott’s eyes that Stiles and Danny so regularly get to enjoy. He wants to make Scott laugh again, even if that means he has to hurt him with the truth first.

It’s quiet on the other end for a moment. And then there’s a breath being let go. “Where are you?”

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac tells Scott to meet him under the boardwalk around four. It’s usually a dead time for the diner and with the heat, Isaac thinks people won’t be coming out for dinner until well past sundown. Scott agrees, but there’s a hesitance in his voice, like’s not sure if he should let Isaac go now. It’s a short call, at the end of which Isaac is feeling out of breath and drained of all feeling in his chest.

When he arrives back at the diner, Erica is undoing her apron - “making an ice run,” she explains on her way out the door - and Derek looks about ready to kill anything that moves within a ten foot radius of him. Great. Awesome.

The late-lunch crowd is thin and just as put up with the weather as the employees of Laura’s. Isaac spends his three hour period between Calling Scott and Meeting With Scott by trying to keep everyone as close to happy as possible and giving an extraordinary amount of refills on semi-cool water. He watches the clock with steady eyes all the while, planning out his steps with each minute that passes. Should he open with an apology? Should he pretend like nothing’s happened? What is Scott going to say?

What if Scott says nothing at all?

At ten to four, Isaac leans across the kitchen window and calls out to Derek, who is currently mumbling something to Boyd about cleaning the stove top regularly. Derek barely glances up, eyebrows already drawn together. It’s like he knows what Isaac’s about to ask.

“Can I take my break now?”

Derek glances at the clock, his eyebrows only furrowing deeper. Isaac thinks he looks like an angry caterpillar.

“You had your lunch three hours ago.”

“Yeah, but I have to... do a thing. And it won’t take long - I promise, I just....” Isaac trails off, rubbing at the back of his neck. He can practically feel Derek’s sigh before he hears it, but he makes a hand gesture at the front door for Isaac to go and Boyd smirks at him from where he’s flipping two pancakes at the same time.

Isaac takes his bike out for the four block ride out to the boardwalk and then additional two blocks to the exact spot he’d taken Scott before. It doesn’t take him too long, especially because Isaac practically weaves through anything standing in his way. He hears Scott’s apologies ringing faintly in his ears when a car honks at him, but there’s a reassurance in the echoes - Isaac can finally tell Scott how wrong he is for thinking Isaac deserves his “I’m sorry’s”, he can finally stop hurting Scott by making him believe Isaac is worth his time. And maybe then Isaac will feel better.

That’s what he tells himself: that he’s only meeting with Scott to tell him that he’s better off without Isaac. But something tells him that it’s far from true, that the moment he sees Scott, he’ll seek out that familiar comfort, that addictive warmth of Scott’s skin and his smile.

Isaac leaves his bike on the boardwalk, leaned against one of the rails, before he hops down into the ditch of sand. “ _It was more fun with less clothing,_ ” Scott had said. Isaac actually smiles at the memory.

That smile is gone completely, however, when he catches sight of Scott. He’s only a few feet from him when Isaac walks beneath the beams of the boardwalk. Scott’s hair looks wet, like he’s just come from swimming or taking a shower, and he’s wearing a tank top that has Isaac’s eyes straying all across his skin, searching across the tanned muscles of his arms. It’s been two days since they really, actually talked - since Isaac refuses to count their conversation in Breaker’s - and all Isaac wants to do is kiss Scott until they both forget about the bruises.

Scott is sitting in the sand with his back against one of the posts, but he’s on his feet as soon as he realizes Isaac is before him. He opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly, brown eyes blown wide. Isaac is just trying to work out something to say, but suddenly everything is jumbled and he can’t remember the speech he had spent all afternoon building up in his head. All he sees is Scott and how badly he’s hurt him and all he can hear in his head are his dad’s words about how no one’s ever going to come running when Isaac cries, but there’s a boy in front of him who is beautiful and kind and wants nothing from Isaac but the truth and Isaac thinks maybe if he cried loud enough that Scott would come. And that is terrifying and wonderful all at once.

And then Isaac hears the messages in his ears, hears Scott’s apologies resounding through his memory and he remembers that he came here for a reason and that reason is to tell Scott how wrong he is to ever say that. So, Isaac opens his mouth, and he braces himself for something monumental, but it’s so hard when Scott is looking at him like he’s every piece of hope in the world. Isaac doesn’t say anything about the messages, however.

What he says is: “I’m so sorry, Scott.” The words come out half-choked and a little shaky, but Isaac thinks that might be okay because Scott moves forward in a fluid motion, like a tidal wave, and wraps his arms around Isaac. He has one hand tangled in Isaac’s hair and the other rubbing circles into his back with his thumb. Isaac keeps repeating himself, keeps pushing the sentence out over and over again because maybe Scott doesn’t understand how desperately sorry Isaac is for knowing how much pain he’s inflicted on Scott already, but how despite it, Isaac still wants him close. Scott hears him, though. He must.

Because he repeats, for every apology, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay, Isaac.”

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They stay under the boardwalk for hours. Maybe Isaac should feel a little guilty for never heading back to Laura’s, but his conversation with Scott is electric and in even the moment, Isaac has to focus all of his energy on keeping up, on not saying the wrong thing.

It takes Isaac a good twenty minutes to simply calm down, to breathe deeply the air and the smell of Scott’s skin. Isaac keeps his face buried into Scott’s neck, his head bent down to do so, while Scott utters reassurance after reassurance. He tells Isaac that he has nothing to be sorry for, that Scott understands he needed space, that he was just worried. Scott says all he wants is for Isaac to talk to him, but if he’s not ready then Scott can be patient.

“But you,” Isaac whispers, “You don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t deserve what?”

“This. Me. Scott,” Isaac’s voice breaks off at the end. He inhales again, deeply, before pulling out of Scott’s hold to take a step back, putting space between them now. “I’m a wreck and you - you shouldn’t have to put up with me avoiding you all the time.”

Scott gives him a sad smile. “Then don’t avoid me.”

Isaac laughs, but it’s in the same tone as Scott’s broken smile. They stand a few minutes in silence and Isaac tries to find a way to position himself that doesn’t feel strange in the weight of the quiet, folding his arms every which way and craning his neck downwards and then to the side. When Scott opens his mouth again, he’s starting in an apology. Isaac cuts him off before he has the time to finish his sentence.

“Scott, please don’t,” he says - the words coming out quickly and quietly. “ _You_ shouldn’t be the one apologizing.”

“But I pushed it too much. I-”

“You didn’t do anything,” Isaac tells him, pleading for Scott to believe him. Scott moves closer to him, closing some of the space that Isaac created.

“If I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have pushed me away again.” Scott’s voice is quiet now, too, maybe even a little lower than Isaac’s. Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that. Again. Again, God. Isaac winces at the word.

“That’s what I mean,” Isaac says, “when I say you don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t have to deal with someone who keeps cutting you out. You should have someone who... who lets you in from the start. Because that’s what you did with me.”

“You’re not cutting me out. It’s okay to want to be alone sometimes, Isaac. Maybe next time you can just give me some sort of sign to know you’re okay?” Scott’s voice is gentle, not belligerent or demanding. He has his hands outstretched before him, an action to tell Isaac he means no harm. “Just tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

Isaac sets his eyes upon the sand in front of Scott’s shoes. Here is what Isaac is afraid of: Isaac is afraid that Scott will start to see him as he sees himself. Isaac is afraid that Scott will realize he’s not worth his time. Isaac is afraid that if Scott knows every part of the truth he’ll decide he’s not equipped to handle it. Isaac wouldn’t blame him. He would understand, let Scott go even. He would watch Scott walk away and think to himself that he saw it coming. It would be better that way.

"I don't want you to do anything, Scott," he says, eyes still locked on the ground. "I don't want this to be the kind of thing you have to worry about."

"What do you mean 'this kind of thing'?" Isaac doesn't answer that. He rubs at the back of his neck and allows the silence to settle in again. It's a pretty masochistic move, looking up at Scott's face to see understanding flickering over those brown eyes, to see his mouth gaping to form a tiny "o". Scott says, "Isaac… is this because…. Is your dad…"

Isaac's eyes go wide and his mouth is dry, but he can't stutter out an argument because Scott clearly see the change in his expression. He knows the very second Scott sees the change. Scott's hands clench at his side and his eyes harden in the same way they had the other in the shop.

"It's your dad? Your _dad_ is doing this to you? Isaac, how can you not tell anyone about this? This shouldn't be happening to you! You don't -"

"What do you want me to say, Scott?" Isaac practically yells back at him. He throws his arms uselessly in front of him in meaningless gestures. Scott flinches at his words, recoiling. Isaac feels something like a stabbing sensation in his chest as Scott steps back and puts that space-barrier between them again. “You can’t tell me this shouldn’t be happening because you don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not... I’m not _good_ like you, Scott. I... I mess things up and I break things and nothing - nothing ever comes out, right, okay?”

“Isaac -”

Isaac shakes his head, his words coming a little harsher, a little more belligerent with every stuttered-out statement. “Do you know what my dad would say if he knew about you? I’d be lucky if I walked out of that conversation _alive_. I’m not just going to drag you into this and hurt you this way, okay? I can’t - I can’t do this. I can’t do this to you, Scott! I deserve this, but you sure as hell don’t.” Isaac is breathing heavy, his chest blowing up and then sinking back quickly. He feels like he’s been running for miles, trying to keep a pace that just isn’t possible. Scott’s shaking his head, slowly, and Isaac notices that his eyes are a little red, a little glossier than usual. He’s moving closer to Isaac, hands held out in front of him to mean no harm. “Please, Scott, just.... Please go.”

Scott doesn’t leave, though. He wraps his fingers around Isaac’s wrists, his thumbs padding over his veins. Isaac can’t meet his eyes, can’t look anywhere but that point of contact. “I’m not going anywhere, Isaac,” he says and his voice is low, soft.

“I can’t let you stay.”

Isaac’s still a bit harsher than Scott in tone, but when he looks up, Scott’s eyes are searching his face. There’s nothing dark locked in the brown of his eyes anymore, but there’s something on his face that tells Isaac he’s not going to let this go. Scott presses his forehead to Isaac’s, leaning up to do so, and he kisses Isaac so softly that Isaac nearly forgets how to breathe. When he pulls away, he says, “I can’t let you push me away.”

********  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“What if we could get you out?”

“And put me where? I don’t think foster care for senior year sounds like a really good idea.”

“What about Derek?”

“What about him?”

“Couldn’t you stay with him?”

Isaac sighs, turning his head to the side so that he can look Scott in the eye. They’re lying beneath the boardwalk’s beams, shoulder to shoulder, beside each other. Isaac’s fingers are tangled with Scott’s between them as they stare upwards, watching the last few rays of sun disappear from the spaces between the wooden boards.

“I doubt Derek or my dad would be a fan of that option.”

“Well, it’s not really up to your dad after you turn eighteen.”

Isaac looks at Scott, sees the tiny flicker of hope in his eyes. _I can help_ , those brown eyes tell him, _I can make it okay_. Isaac doesn’t want to tell him otherwise.

“I guess you’re right.”

********  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

When it’s time for Isaac to leave, he holds onto Scott a little tighter than usual, buries his face in his hair for a moment and breathes in. Scott says he doesn’t want Isaac to go, asks Isaac if he can go with him, or at least walk him home. But Isaac shakes his head, mumbles that he’ll be fine. He says he’s sorry again, but Scott just kisses his apology away.

“You’ll tell me if it happens again?” Scott asks, his voice wavering a little, but hardening nonetheless. “I can’t let this happen, Isaac. I’m not going to let it go.”

Isaac nods slowly because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what to say to Scott now that’s he let him become a part of this _thing_ that’s eating Isaac alive. “I’ll be okay,” Isaac tells him in a whisper.

He kisses Scott as a promise before he leaves.

********  
  
  
  
  
  


Isaac’s father is going off on a tangent the minute Isaac walks through the door, all about how Isaac is ungrateful and should probably be paying rent for living the way he does. This is not anything new to Isaac’s ears, so he half listens to his dad while cleaning up the kitchen and the living room and then the upstairs hallway - his father always yelling from a few feet away, following Isaac throughout his chores. It’s almost eleven when his dad finally makes an actual point in their “conversation” by telling Isaac that he should be the one to pay for their air conditioning system to be repaired, or at least chip in half the money. Five hundred dollars, his dad says, because it’s the least Isaac can do.

He must be expecting Isaac to just wordlessly nod his head in agreement because when Isaac says, “That would have to come from my college fund,” he blinks, taken aback. And then he laughs - actually laughs - in this horrible spiteful sound.

“You actually think any college is going to let you in, son? You need talents, notable assets, some actual book smarts.” There’s that laugh again, cutting through Isaac’s skin. “You’ll be working that diner job for the rest of your life.”

Isaac grits his teeth, staring down the dustpan on the floor below him. He turns slowly to face his father, letting everything he wants to say build up inside of him. His dad is shaking his head, already turning away, when Isaac says, “You’re wrong.”

Isaac knows the exact moment his dad hears him. His father’s shoulders tense and he pauses in his way to the stairwell, turning slowly to face Isaac again. There’s a daring look in his eyes, something nasty that Isaac’s never seen before. He’s seen that look vary, but never this one. “What was that?”

“You’re wrong,” Isaac says again, and though it’s quiet, he feels a sense of pride in the way there’s no questioning in his tone. Low and confident. Isaac revels in the words.

His father slams him into the wall and points a finger close to his face. He’s yelling even before he gets to Isaac about disrespect and listing the reasons why he’s _right_. Because Isaac may have an A in French and Math, but that doesn’t suddenly entitle him to think he’s the best student on earth. And besides, his father tells him, what does Isaac think he’s going to do for the rest of his life? What is he good for besides waiting tables at that shitty diner of his? Just because some headed-nowhere, social outcast took pity on him and let him in doesn’t mean that anyone else is going to give Isaac a chance.

Isaac takes a knee to the ribs. He lies on the ground, watching his dad walk away as he gasps for air. “I want the five hundred dollars by Wednesday,” his father says.

Isaac closes his eyes and turns over so that he’s on his back. He’s had worse, he reminds himself, and he tries not to let his dad’s words infect his thoughts.

Later that night, though, he texts Scott.

- _Do you think it’s stupid? Me wanting to be a pediatrician?_

- _I don’t think it’s stupid at all. It’s sort of perfect._

- _You think I could do it?_

- _There isn’t anything you can’t do._

Isaac falls asleep easily for the first time in weeks.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient with me! This chapter is a little more mature than the others, but I'm keeping the rating at T, okay? Warning for graphic violence and homophobia.

There are little things that make a day great - or so Isaac’s believed since he was a kid. On rare mornings when he was younger, he could pad out of bed and stumble downstairs to find Camden already sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of cereal in his hands. His brother would just move his feet over, barely enough so that Isaac could have a place to sit beside the arm of the couch. They would watch reruns of cartoons or movies on ABC family until one - or worse: both - of their parents came down and took over the room, changing the entire dynamic of the morning with their presence alone. His mom wasn’t as bad - she could sometimes get a cup of coffee for herself and join them in the living room without having to leave for a weekend shift at work for a couple of hours. Isaac liked those mornings the best, when Camden and his mom watched repeats of reality shows and bickered lightheartedly over the contestants. That was one of the little things, one of the moments that made Isaac okay with whatever else went on that day.

Scott’s good at the little things. He’s good at texting Isaac “good morning” at the right moment, even if it means he has to wake up early to catch Isaac on his way into work. Scott’s good at remembering Isaac’s favorite coffee and he’s good at finding songs to suggest Isaac at lunch. Scott is good at holding Isaac’s hand, about knowing when to squeeze Isaac’s fingers and when to let go. It’s not even something he’s picked up over the past month; they’re just little things Scott’s known from the start.

Like on Tuesday, Scott comes in through the diner’s back door and meets Isaac at the bar with a brown paper bag in his hand. Isaac can see, even from across the room, that it has the logo of the bagel and sandwich place down the street and he’s willing to bet Scott’s got in the bag what he saw Isaac order the last time they were there. Little things.

Isaac smiles to himself and tells Erica he’s taking his break and that she’s in charge while he’s gone. Lydia scoffs at that.

Derek cut out about an hour ago, around eleven, saying he had some business to take care of and that he wouldn’t be back until later. “Isaac’s in charge,” he had announced to the four of them standing around the bar. Erica had rolled her eyes; Boyd just handed Isaac a tray, mumbling something about favoritism in a half-hearted tone. Lydia had tried to squeeze more information out of him, but Derek had avoided her questions, kept saying something about helping out a friend. That had made everyone even more suspicious. Derek doesn’t have friends outside of the diner - or, at least, that’s what everyone thought.

“It’s probably that guy he keeps taking calls from,” Boyd said once the Camaro has pulled out of sight. “Whenever he’s back in the kitchen, he keeps looking at his phone.”

“Maybe Derek has a boyfriend,” Lydia suggested. Erica huffed.

“Yeah right,” she said. “Isaac, you’ve known Derek the longest. When was the last time you saw him go out on a date?”

Isaac had paused, racking his brain for any time over the past two years when Derek had ever mentioned anyone in anything but an “I barely tolerate them” kind of way. He came up short, surprisingly enough, and when he said so, everyone had looked at each other with the same mixed expression of excitement and curiosity.

“Happy Second of July,” Isaac greets him, smile already fighting its way to cover his entire face. He kisses Scott a hello, leaning into him for just a moment before Scott’s laughing, breathy and soft, and they’re moving out to the back door again, to the space behind the diner.

“I think you’re two days early with the holiday greeting.”

Isaac shakes his head, holding the door open as Scott passes. “Maybe. We’re serving red, white, and blue pancakes all week though.”

“I didn’t know Derek was big on Fourth of July,” Scott muses as he takes a seat against the brick wall. He begins to splay napkins over the concrete ground, pulling out items from the paper bag and setting them down on the makeshift cover. Isaac watches him, the way he crosses one leg under the other outstretched one, the way he splits both bagel-sandwiches in half so they each have a side of each other’s. Isaac thinks Scott is too kind for his own good, but he won’t say it out loud. It’s one of Isaac’s favorite things, after all.

“He’s not. It’s an Erica thing, actually. She puts mini flags from the dollar store in the waffles, too.”  Isaac meets Scott’s smile with one of his own as he takes a seat across from him, separated only by the little “picnic” area Scott’s fashioned. Isaac sits with his legs crossed, Scott’s foot resting against his knee, and for a few moments, they’re able to share a comfortable silence while passing between them a shared Coke and opening a bag of chips.

Isaac doesn’t notice Scott’s eyes on him until he looks up from where he’s picking tomatoes off the half of Scott’s sandwich he’s been given. He looks at Isaac with a small smile, just barely there, and he says, “Does your jaw hurt?"

The question settles over Isaac like a wave of something heavy, but he can’t worry Scott, can’t make things worse than they are. And besides, the bruise is nearly gone now, and his chest still aches from last night, but it’s mild compared to past injuries. So, Isaac says so, he tells Scott that it doesn’t hurt at all and when Scott gives him a look like he’s not buying it for a second, Isaac angles his chin towards him to show him how it is in fact healing. Scott seems appeased in the slightest way, but Isaac manages to squeeze a full fledged, cavity-inducing smile out of him when he changes the subject to tell the tragic tale of Boyd’s now duct-taped-on side mirror.

Isaac considers telling Scott about how he told his dad he was wrong when he told him he wasn’t good enough for college or about the five hundred dollars that Isaac is going to have to dig out of his savings by tomorrow, but he thinks Scott would worry too much, would focus too heavily on the part of that story where Isaac was slammed against the wall and left on the floor. And maybe Scott knows a little bit more of the story now, knows a little bit more about why Isaac keeps putting him at arm’s length, but there are still things that Isaac doesn’t think he could ever say out loud. And there are still things that maybe Scott doesn’t want to hear.

Isaac is offering Scott the leftovers from his sandwich, listening to Scott’s argument as to why he finds birds mildly terrifying when Lydia walks out the backdoor, wheeling the trash bin behind her. It’s bulky, oddly shaped, too, and she struggles getting it through the door, but Scott is off his feet in a matter of seconds, there to assist her before Isaac can even fully turn to face her. She thanks Scott with a satisfied, if not a little surprised grin and then raises her eyebrow at Isaac in some kind of gesture he can’t understand.

“Well, at least someone around here knows how to cater to a lady,” she says with a smirk, tossing the contents of the trash bin into the dumpster at the diner’s back wall.

“Erica put you on trash duty?” Isaac asks, ignoring her remark.

“I volunteered.” She clearly isn’t amused by the expression of mock-surprise Isaac is shooting her way because Lydia then rolls her eyes and adds, “I needed an excuse to make sure you didn’t forget to invite your adorable boyfriend to the party on Thursday.”

Isaac turns towards Scott, sighing as he does so. Because, yes, he had forgotten. But it’s not his fault, not really. Lydia hadn’t even formally invited _him_ to her Fourth of July party this year. “It’s assumed,” she had told him during opening this morning, pulling something from the back of his hair in passing. “Your attendance is practically mandatory at this point, Isaac.” Lydia had smiled when she pointed a finger in his direction and from the back Boyd had called out something about giving Isaac a ride if he needed one, but Isaac hadn’t been thinking about the party even in the moment. It was kind of a weird thought for him, having someone else to consider when it came to things like holidays and parties of larger sorts. It was a nice weird, though. One that Isaac could get used to.

“Do you want to come to Lydia’s Fourth of July party?” Isaac asks Scott in a mock-exasperated voice.

“There will be food and music,” Lydia adds, squeezing Isaac’s shoulder as he stands. “And fireworks if you’re the traditionalist type. My Aunt has a beach house a few miles from here. It used to be a Bed and Breakfast, so there’s more than enough room for a few extras this year.”

Scott looks between Lydia and Isaac, mouth open slightly and eyes dancing. He laughs as he breathes. “It sounds great... I’d love to come.”

“Really?” Isaac asks, the disbelief in his voice a little too evident. “You don’t have other plans?”

Scott shrugs and he gives Isaac this look that suggests that Isaac would be crazy to believe that Scott would want to be anywhere else but with him for the holiday. Isaac feels like Scott’s eyes are piercing his chest. “Danny and Stiles were going to see their family, so no, not really. Unless you don’t want me to come?”

Isaac laughs. “No um... trust me, I don’t want to go without you.”

Scott smiles again and there’s a laugh of his own coming out this time, but Lydia is already saying something about bringing Scott’s friends if he wants and how Isaac will just be in charge of cleaning up after all of them. Isaac doesn’t even listen to her words, really, but instead takes interest in Scott’s half-nervous, half-curious grin he keeps intact throughout his entire conversation with Lydia. It’s a normal response, Isaac thinks, but he still bites the inside of his cheek when Scott stumbles on his explanation of Stiles’s name to keep himself from beaming at the ground.

When Lydia’s gone, Scott says that he likes Isaac’s friends no matter how much Isaac insists that he’s been thinking about trading them in for new ones. Scott shakes his head, laughs against Isaac’s lips when he leans in to kiss him. “I like them. They’re part of you,” he says and Isaac wants to hold onto that, wants to wear that on his skin. One of these days, there will be a part of Isaac that Scott doesn’t want, that he doesn’t like, but for now, Isaac is content to leave Scott’s name etched into all of the parts of him Scott does like, every piece of his skin that Scott touches with his own, kisses with his lips and seeps warmth into.

Scott kisses him behind the diner, pushes closer to him mere seconds after the door clicks shut in Lydia’s exit. He tugs Isaac down the few inches differing their heights, weaves his fingers in Isaac’s hair, and Isaac breathes in deeply. Scott’s easy to keep close - with skin that radiates sunshine and lips that curve into soft smiles against Isaac’s and hands that grip at Isaac’s back. And Isaac always feels out of breath in the best way, feels his hips press into Scott’s in the best way. Kissing Scott today, Isaac feels tired of constantly pushing him away and he promised yesterday that he would stop, made a promise out loud to Scott, but he promises it to himself as well.

 _I can’t let you push me away_ , Scott had said. And Isaac won’t, he refuses to.

****

 

  


****

Derek shows up around seven, right as Isaac is passing out servings of patriotic pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches to a family of six. He nods at Isaac and moves immediately to the bar to grab his apron and tie it around his waist. Erica is on him in a matter of seconds - Isaac doesn’t even have to hear their conversation to know what she’s saying and to know Derek’s stoic reply. He does hear them, however, when he brings his tray back around to the bar.

“I’m just saying, I don’t keep any relationship secrets from you, Derek.”

Derek huffs. “That’s because your boyfriend is my only short order cook.”

“And your best,” Boyd grins through the window.

Isaac picks up the few plates Boyd’s sliding through, loading them onto his tray. The sun’s going down, pouring light through the front of the diner, and Derek seems to be pretty content to stand directly under it, backing further into the light when Erica leans closer.

“Derek,” she says again. “Just tell us who he is.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” He replies, but Isaac doesn’t miss the hint of a grin playing on his lips. “You have a new party in your section.” She stares at him, unmoving, until he waves her in the direction of the main floor with a simple “Go”. Lydia snickers from the hostess stand as Erica narrows her eyes and then turns on her heel towards her section. Derek then turns to Isaac, seemingly exhausted from his thirty second conversation. “Everything go okay here today?”

Isaac hums a yes. “Wasn’t too bad.”

Derek nods and claps a hand on his shoulder as Isaac makes his way from back around the bar, back towards his table. Derek stops him in his walk, though, dragging him back a step. “Hey,” he says, waiting for Isaac to turn his head back towards him. There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation, where Derek inhales and diverts his eyes towards the window before looking back to Isaac. “Thank you. For today.”

Isaac stills, but finds it in himself to shrug after a few seconds. “It was nothing. I hope you had fun on your _date_.” He grins at Derek, a simple turn of the lips. And then he weaves his way across the main floor.

  


  

 

 

Isaac calls Scott on his walk home from work and they debate the superiority of sparklers or fireworks. Scott says he likes sparklers because you can hold them in your hand and spell out words with the light. Isaac says he agrees, says he likes fireworks better, though, because they’re nice to look at and they’re like a signal for happiness, for celebration somewhere. Scott’s quiet after that, but when Isaac asks what’s up, he just laughs quietly and says, “I just think you’re really cute.”

Isaac’s face flushes despite resistance.

He tells Scott he has to go once he reaches his house and there’s some hesitation from the other end. Scott breathes in deeply. He tells Isaac to call him if anything happens - anything at all - and Isaac is standing a few feet from his front door, chewing at his lip, and nodding his head to himself.

“I’m going to be okay, Scott,” he says in the most assuring tone he can manage. “Trust me, okay?”

“It’s not you who I don’t trust,” is Scott’s mumbled reply.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning? I can bring coffee over before work?”

Scott sighs, but it’s more like a released breath of tension. Isaac can practically see him, sitting at the edge of his bed with his shoulders hunched over, hair sticking in an odd angle at the end from where he’s run his fingers through it. Scott says, “Okay. But, Isaac -”

“I know. I know, Scott. I’ll be okay.”

Scott says good night reluctantly in that hesitant tone that prods into Isaac’s chest, pokes holes in sensitive spots. But he’s inside soon enough and can’t think about Scott or how he speaks through the phone or whispered late at night with his dad in the room, watching Isaac with heavy eyes as he unloads the dishwasher. The room is quiet, stuffy - Isaac always misses the smell of syrup and the familiar clicks of the cash register once he’s home. He misses Erica’s upbeat voice she uses when talking to the regular customers and Boyd’s subconscious humming that slips through the kitchen window sometimes when Isaac works the bar. Isaac even misses Derek’s gruff and mumbled calls for orders to the kitchen. He misses the soundtrack of Laura’s - the easy background buzz that soothes his thoughts.

“Were you talking to someone outside?” His father asks from the other side of the room.

“No,” Isaac replies simply. He doesn’t meet his father’s eyes, just continues stacking the plates in the cabinet.

“You seem pretty busy lately.”

“The diner’s been doing really well this summer.”

“Is that it?”

Isaac nods, slowly, rotating a glass in hands for a moment. He doesn’t like the way his shoulders tighten under the itch of his dad’s stare. “What else would it be?”

The room swells with a silence that Isaac wants to step through, wants to cut with a knife. It’s like waiting to see what grade he got on a test, trying to figure out if he’s answered his father’s questions correctly. It’s a game of Hot and Cold. Finally, his father huffs and says, “I want that money by tomorrow morning,” and then he disappears from the kitchen. So Isaac’s passed after all.

Isaac closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, so that his nose is nearly pressed to his shoulder. He inhales the scent of his shirt, that smell of breakfast foods and a whisper of Scott’s shampoo.

It’s those little things that make him feel okay.

  
  
  


 

The money comes from a small box in the back of Isaac’s closet. All Isaac’s been given from birthdays as a kid, all he earned from dog walking throughout middle school, everything he’s worked for at the diner - tips included, it’s all in that box. Five hundred dollars isn’t that much, really. It’s a small dent, barely, but Isaac still feels like the weight of the envelope he slips onto the counter to be too heavy. Especially when he lets himself think about the cost of tuition and books and food and school supplies and and and and. That is, he reminds himself, if he can _get into_ college.

 _You can do anything_ , Scott had said. Isaac clings to those words like a vice.

He writes “FOR AC” in pencil and leaves the envelope for his dad to find in the kitchen before making his way out of the door and down the street to the Starbucks closest to Scott’s house.

The line is short and the sun’s still coming up - painfully slowly - so Isaac makes his way to Scott’s house in barely any time at all in a sort of summer haze that doesn’t come around very often. He uses the “hidden” key, just like last time, and opens the door as quietly as possible. Stiles’ door is open, spilling muffled snores into the hall. Danny’s is closed and there’s some sort of note taped to it in unfamiliar, scribbled handwriting. It says “to my favorite cousin” at the top, though, so it doesn’t take much for Isaac to decipher who it might belong to.

Isaac knocks on Scott’s door softly before pushing it open. Scott, as it turns out, is awake and pulling a variety of shirts from the dresser at the side of the room. He’s dressed only in a pair of workout shorts. And no, Isaac totally doesn’t find a newfound obsession with the tiny curve in Scott’s lower back. No way.

Scott lights up when he catches sight of Isaac, who closes the door behind him as gently as possible. “Hey,” he says, half-whispered. Isaac crosses the room so that Scott can lean up to kiss him good morning. Scott tastes like toothpaste and Isaac knows he’s probably oozing ice coffee odors, but Scott doesn’t seem to mind. He runs his tongue along Isaac’s bottom lip and pulls him closer by the sides of his tee shirt.

Isaac sets one of the coffees down on the dresser simply to free his hand to make contact with Scott’s bare chest, his fingers at Scott’s collarbone before grabbing at the back of his neck. Isaac kisses Scott with something a little feverish, a little desperate. Maybe he can pull those encouraging words from Scott’s lips with his own.  

Scott pulls away, though, slowly, with parting pulls at Isaac’s lips, heavy breaths left at the corner of his mouth. “You okay?” He asks, and his hands are under the fabric of Isaac’s shirt now, thumbs rubbing slow patterns over his skin.

“Yeah, just... happy to see you,” Isaac says honestly, a small smile over his lips. Scott mirrors his expression. “What are you doing?”

Scott sighs, leaning out of Isaac’s hold slightly to gaze back at the shirts lying on top of the dresser. “I’m going running with Danny this morning, but my favorite shirt is missing. I think Stiles took it again, but...” He trails off with a shrug.

Isaac hums in understanding, smoothing the parts of Scott’s hair that are still out of place, still hinting at bedhead. “You could just go like this.” Scott grins, but Isaac doesn’t meet his eyes, he instead takes to leaning his forehead into the crook of Scott’s shoulder and then kissing his way along Scott’s collarbone and at the base of his neck. “I’d go running if you went like this.” Scott actually laughs at that, softly, but his breath hitches when Isaac drags his teeth along his bare skin, just like Scott’s done to him. It’s almost like an experiment, to see if he can have the same effect that Scott has on him. And the result, well it has Isaac grinning like an idiot against Scott’s throat.

“I think we’re going to Laura’s for breakfast afterwards, so unless Derek is cool with his customers being half naked....” He doesn’t finish that thought, his fingers inching up further beneath Isaac’s shirt.

“I’m cool with some of our customers being half naked.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. Isaac meets his eyes and tries hard to not revel in that honey-golden light that shows up when he laughs. Scott moves out of his hold slowly, leaving Isaac’s stomach cold in the absence of his hands. He picks a dark red tee shirt off of the dresser, holding it up for Isaac to see. In bold, white letters across the chest it reads: “Beacon Hills Athletic Department”.

“I’ll just make sure Danny’s not wearing the same one,” Scott says before slipping the material over his head. He takes the coffee cup from Isaac’s hand then and sniffs at the hole in the lid, a wide smile instantly spreading its way across his lips. “Mmm... you’re the best ever.” He takes a long drink and then he’s back in Isaac’s space, kissing him with coffee stained lips of his own. The kiss is short, but Scott’s pulling Isaac back once he pulls away, tugging him towards the bed with him. Isaac follows, a smile on his face, and collapses with Scott pressed close to him.

He completely ignores his own coffee cup on the dresser.

  
  
  
  
  
 ****

Isaac spends Wednesday listening to Lydia’s constantly running to-do list for pre-party set up. She’s running in and out of the diner all day, with Erica - who is working on her day off due to “extreme devotion to red, white, and blue pancakes” - and even Derek helping her load up her car with supplies from time to time. Her aunt’s beach house is a twenty-five minute drive, but somehow Lydia seems to be cutting it down to fifteen.

Danny and Scott roll into the diner around ten thirty, both breathing heavy and ready to eat their weight in eggs. Scott makes a joke about missing his inhaler, but Isaac doesn’t find it funny and takes to asking Scott how he feels at ten minute intervals. Scott’s talked about his asthma attacks before. He’d said to Isaac on the beach, during their Truth or Dare game that it’s not so bad anymore, that’s why he can play lacrosse, but he used to have it pretty severely. The thought of Scott struggling for breath isn’t really one that bodes well with Isaac.

On their way out the door, Danny catches Isaac by his elbow and says, “Are you sure it’s okay if I come to you friend’s party tomorrow?”

Isaac blinks and then offers Danny a small smile. “The more the better in Lydia’s eyes. Trust me.” Danny actually smiles back.

“If you say so.”

Scott kisses Isaac goodbye and promises to call him later before he and Danny make their exit, just in time for Lydia to swing through the doors with a bin full of red, plastic cups. She doesn’t even have time to open her mouth before Isaac is moving across the floor to take it from her. She informs him there are four more of them waiting for her outside. Isaac sighs; this better be one hell of a July Fourth party.

When they’re closing up, a few minutes later than usual due to some stragglers, Erica turns on the radio. It’s probably the first time in months that all of them have been at the diner from opening to closing and Isaac is surprised how much easier everything is. He and Erica wipe down the floor while Boyd takes care of the kitchen. Lydia meanwhile gives half of her attention to making sure the bathrooms are somewhat decent and Derek stacks up chairs. Maybe they finish early because everyone’s so excited about their day off tomorrow, but Isaac thinks at least some of it has to do with teamwork.

“So, are you going to bring this mystery-guy of yours to Lydia’s party, Der?” Erica asks after bopping Isaac’s nose with a dollop of soap.

Derek rolls his eyes, but there’s something close to a smile fighting its way onto his face. “You’re implying that I’m actually going to Lydia’s party tomorrow.”

Erica groans. “Oh, c’mon. Can’t you just suck it up and have some fun for once?”

Derek says nothing for a moment. Isaac tries to read the calculating expression on his face. He finally says, shortly, “You missed a spot under table six.” And then he’s disappearing to the back room.

“You know, I hope his new boyfriend is one of those go-getter types who loves to hike and travel for fun. Derek’s outlook could use a serious makeover.”

Isaac shakes his head, smiling at the floor. He doesn’t say it outloud, but he hopes Derek decides to show up, too. The thought of him sitting alone in his apartment with fireworks sounding off in the dark only on the outside of his walls doesn’t settle well in his mind. Isaac knows what it’s like, to be utterly alone in the way Derek is, and sometimes he thinks Derek can understand what he wants to say without Isaac actually having to say it out loud. So, before he leaves, Isaac tries to give Derek a pleading look, an unspoken “please come”. But Derek says nothing in response. He just pats Isaac’s shoulder and motions him out the door.

The ride home is short and Isaac tries his best not to get lost in thought about sparklers and the way Scott’s eyes are going to light up beneath the fireworks and the way Scott smelled this morning and the way Scott kissed him this morning and just _Scott_.

He passes his dad in the front hall, on his way up to his room, but they say nothing to each other. Isaac doesn’t even ask about the air conditioner. Really, he doesn’t care.

Scott calls him around eleven, when Isaac’s just getting out of the shower, ready with a story about Stiles weirdly not telling he and Danny his plans for tomorrow that involves an extraordinary amount of arm flailing. They talk for an hour before Isaac’s dad heads upstairs and he has to hang up with a promise of a beach outing before the party tomorrow.

“Or oh, oh, we could finish our zombie marathon!” Scott says in sleepy excitement.

“Oh yeah, maybe,” Isaac whispers, leaning against his door.

Scott yawns and through it he’s laughing softly. “Would you still like me if I was a zombie?”

Isaac grins to himself. “Who says I like you now?”

“That hurts,” Scott says, but Isaac can practically hear his smile through the phone. He sighs and there’s a shifting sound from the other end. Isaac imagines Scott’s getting into bed, listening to Danny’s iPod fill the hall at a quiet hum. Isaac wants to be under those sheets, wants to go back to this morning, to be pressed against Scott tightly and feel the comfort of his smile, feel the sun through those brown eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Do you have to go now?”

“My dad just came up, so....”

“You’ll call me, right? If anything happens, you’ll call?” He sounds suddenly sobered, a little more alert.

“I’ll call,” Isaac echoes. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, Scott.”

“First thing,” Scott affirms.

Isaac falls asleep blanketed by that promise.

  
  
  


****

Isaac’s never thought of the Fourth of July as anything special, really. School’s already out, so there’s not really a vacation time, and his family never really had any traditions, no special firework-viewing-place or fireworks at all, really. When he was little, he used to make Camden sit in the front yard with him and watch the neighbors set off theirs and one time his mom made strawberry shortcake, but he was six then and the memory seems hazy sometimes. He’s only sure it’s real because he has pictures. So, Fourth of July - not really worthy of a big fuss.

But sitting on the beach, watching Stiles dig himself into a hole in the sand, Danny and Scott wading into the water a few feet ahead, Isaac thinks maybe he’s getting used to the idea of celebrating this summer holiday.

The beach is crazy crowded, full of tourists of all varieties - some are here for the beach itself, others for family, others just to pass the time. Isaac watches toddlers giggle at sandcastles, watches small families take photos, all with a smile on his face. He can’t seem to shake it, the feeling of _summer_ and _freedom_ and _happy_. It radiates off of everyone around him - especially Scott.

Scott who kisses Isaac with blue lips from his snow cone. Scott who buries his face in Isaac’s shoulder when his eyes are tired from the sun. Scott who drags Isaac close to him for every picture that Danny takes, despite Isaac’s short-lived protest. Scott who jumps in surprise when Isaac grabs his sides and pulls him against his chest when the wind picks up by the water.

His dad was gone when Isaac woke up this morning which was some kind of good omen in itself and so Isaac had been able to slip easily out the front door and bike his way to Scott’s house with the sun rising steadily above him. They’d slept in for a couple of hours before joining Danny and Stiles in the kitchen for Eggo waffles and little orange juice bottles that Danny had apparently stocked the fridge with the night before. The four of them had spent the afternoon in town and down at the beach, setting up camp beneath one of the umbrellas from a lifeguard stand. Stiles claimed he had “found” it.

Stiles turns to him now, jumping out of his “sand hole” with a half-smirk. He says to Isaac, “So it’s your friend Lydia’s party?”

Isaac nods, but his eyes don’t leave Scott, who is pulling the most ridiculous face at the temperature of the water. Danny laughs at him and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Well, it’s at her aunt’s beach house. It’s really nice. You should definitely come.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, voice sounding a little distant. “I want to. But um.... Can I ask you, like, a hypothetical question... hypothetically?”

Isaac blinks, cranes his neck back to look at Stiles, who is standing to his side, awkwardly unscrewing a water bottle cap with the palm of his hand. He looks almost nervous and it makes Isaac wonder if he’s close enough to Stiles to be qualified to answer his question, whatever it will be. “Um... sure?”

“What would you do - _hypothetically_ \- if you were friends with someone who wasn’t too big on parties, but you knew that going to one would be way better for them than whatever else they had planned... no matter how hard they protest in their grumpy-cat way?”

Stiles speaks quickly and it takes Isaac a minute to process everything he had said. Maybe he shouldn’t be answering this, after all. “Um...” Isaac starts, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I think... maybe you shoud bring the party to your friend?”

Stiles nods as if Isaac’s just given him the perfect answer, like he’s just solved the world’s greatest mystery. He says “thanks, man, that’s exactly what I thought” in this absolutely grateful tone that has Isaac holding back a laugh. He leans back on his elbows and returns to staring out at the water. Scott is turned around now and he waves to Isaac when he catches his eyes. Isaac waves back, a smile on his own face as well.

Fourth of July? It’s not so bad after all.

  
  
  
  
 ****

“Danny, you’re not wearing any red, white, or blue. Am I supposed to pinch you or something?”

“That’s Saint Patrick’s Day, Scott.”

Scott laughs, shaking his head as he does so. Danny parks at the end of the driveway, which is quite possibly a miniature road in itself, leading up to the largest house in miles of the town. It has white walls and wooden pillars lining the front porch. And if that weren’t enough, the house is practically sitting on its own beach, being the only property as far as any of them can see. Scott practically gapes at its sheer size alone when they pull up, eyes wide and mouth open. Danny just huffs a laugh and says, “Holy shit.”

“Who the hell are you friends with?” He asks, glancing at Isaac as they all step out of Danny’s car.

“Lydia’s family is pretty... well off,” Isaac offers, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Danny shakes his head. “You can say that again.”

It’s getting close to nine by the time they get to the front door. The sun has been down for a while now, the only remainders of light being thin purple streaks in the sky. The moon is already out, just a thin sliver hanging above them. Isaac finds it difficult to draw his eyes away from Scott, who keeps searching the sky with his eyes, a content smile on his face all the while. He tangles his fingers with Scott’s, keeping him close as they approach the door.

There are dozens of cars already lining the property and even the porch is packed full of people. There are girls and guys in bathing suits, running loose on the property and even more people on the inside, passing around drinks and food and dancing wildly to an upbeat song Isaac’s never heard before.

The three of them push their way inside and Danny immediately grins at the enormous crowd, taking up the entire living space, front hall, kitchen - every inch of the place. Danny turns to them, almost laughing beneath his breath. He announces that he’ll be getting a drink with the most satisfied expression Isaac’s ever seen. He can’t help but feel a little proud inwardly, a little happy that he was able to suggest something for Fourth of July that actually seemed to appeal to Scott and his friends.

Isaac turns to Scott and opens his mouth to ask if he, too, wants to get a drink, but right as he does so, a voice from a few feet away calls out, “Lahey!” They both turn, Isaac a little more startled than Scott, to see Erica waving at them, pulling Boyd towards them, dragging him behind her. She’s smiling widely, a little sloppily as well, but it’s not until she throws her arms around Isaac’s neck in a lazy hold that he figures she’s been here a little longer than they have. Isaac raises an eyebrow at Boyd standing before him and he mouths “jello shots” with a slightly-buzzed grin of his own.

“Did you guys just get here?” She asks upon pulling away.

“Yeah, Scott’s friend drove us in. How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” she answers simply, ruffling Isaac’s hair. Scott bites his lip over a grin at that, but Isaac doesn’t have time to say anything to him because Erica’s slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him with her as she makes her way through the crowd. “You know, Lydia’s prep school friends are a little aggressive with the drinking.”

Isaac side glances Erica in her hold over him. “Is that so?” He deadpans.

“It is,” she tells him seriously, as if Isaac is in need of convincing. “But don’t worry, buddy, I know how to work my around these prep school bitches.” She pats his chest comfortingly and leads them towards the middle of the kitchen, where an entire granite island is consumed by different bottles and plastic cups of all sorts. Erica bumps her way between two girls and disappears into the mess of people grabbing at different cocktail supplies, emerging a few seconds later with four beers. “Ta-da!” She says with a small pose. Boyd shakes his head with a smile and Scott, much to Isaac’s delight, has the same expression.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Isaac suggests as Erica passes the beers between the four of them.

She laughs. “Do you know how many bedrooms this place has? Eight. Eight bedrooms! Lyds already told me I could sleep here for the night, you and Scotty here could probably get the same deal.” She nudges Scott with an elbow, but he just laughs. It’s a suggestion that Isaac really doesn’t want to pass up, but he knows that if he’s back any later than eleven or maybe even midnight if he really pushes it, his dad won’t buy any excuse about picking up work running some family festival in town.

“Thanks for the head’s up,” Isaac says as he moves his way back to Scott’s side. Scott slips an arm around his waist, hand in his back pocket, and Isaac leans into the contact. Erica’s saying something, maybe she’s talking to Boyd, but Isaac isn’t paying attention. He leans down to Scott’s ear and says, “Do you want to dance?”

Scott’s eyes light up without another word.

  
  
  
  


****

Isaac doesn’t know how it happened or why it’s happening, but somehow he ends up soaking wet, standing in one of the apparent eight bedrooms in only his underwear, dying of laughter with Scott doubling over in front of him.

They danced through so many songs Isaac lost count, his hands on Scott’s hips, in Scott’s hair, lips on his neck - he didn’t know if his head was spinning from the beer or from the taste of Scott’s skin, but he was willing to bet that the way Scott breathed his name had more of an effect than anything else. Scott had pulled him by the hand when he caught sight of the water out back, begging Isaac to take a walk with him with this pleading smile that Isaac was definitely not going to say no to, no way in hell. They toured the property beneath the navy blue July sky, sparklers and drinks in the hands of everyone who passed them by, until they made it down to the water where things were quieter, a little more sober.

They sat on the sand, on the half-grassy dunes, ankles overlapping one another’s and eyes bright. Scott talked about his favorite movies from when he was a kid and Isaac told the story of the time his mom brought in a stray at for a few months. The voices from the house behind them carried over to the water at a low buzz. It was hard for Isaac to concentrate on them, however, when Scott was kissing him under the moon, with a glow on his skin that looked a lot like stardust, like magic little kids believe in. Scott kissed him and his mouth was electric and he pushed Isaac, held him close, and inched them down on the sand, warm on Isaac’s back.

And when Scott pulled away, there was a dare in his eyes, and Isaac doesn’t remember how he was talked into it, but he peeled off his shirt and everything except for his boxer briefs and he followed Scott into the water. Scott’s laugh was like an echo, bouncing off the water and sinking into Isaac’s skin. He smiled and Isaac saw the stars on his lips. He tasted like salt water and Isaac loved every second of it, loved it when Scott knocked them both down into a wave as they waded their way into the water. He loved the way Scott repeated his name as a laughed-out plea for mercy when Isaac grabbed at his sides in that way he knows make Scott ticklish. He loved the way Scott ran his fingers along his jaw, mapping out lines on his face, a map of Isaac that only Scott understood.

They took their cue to head back towards the house when a fight broke up on the sand, a girl screaming at her boyfriend for an unknown offense. Scott was balling up their clothes when the boy started screaming, too, crying about stepping on a jellyfish. They both did their best not to laugh as they jogged back through the grass. They only let it out as they climbed the stairs to the second level of the house, the crowd inside seeming to have made their way to the yard. Isaac figured they were close to setting off fireworks now.

Scott had pulled them into one of the rooms, said something about checking for towels in the bathroom, but once they were inside, they both paused and let their laughter fill the room. That’s how they stand now, facing each other with exhausted grins.

“It’s not funny, it’s not funny,” Isaac says, but he’s still smiling madly. “Jellyfish stings are a serious matter.”

Scott nods, but he’s unable to keep quiet, to restrain himself from laughing as he exhales. “I’m not laughing,” he tells Isaac, grinning from ear to ear.

There’s a crack from outside the window of the bedroom, loud and sudden, that stills both of them. Isaac looks to the far side of the room - and god, is it far. They must be in the master bedroom or something judging by the size of this place and the Larger Than King Sized bed to their side. “Look,” he says, barely a whisper. He moves to the doors beside the window and pulls them open hesitantly. There’s a balcony, small and raised above the water, looking out at the ocean and the backyard. In the sky, there’s a burst of red and blue and then one of green. Isaac stares, wide eyed and with a small smile over his lips, and when he looks at Scott to his side, he’s met with a pair of warm brown eyes already staring back.

Scott looks at him intently, eyes fixated on Isaac’s. They’re close, shoulder to shoulder, and Isaac is trying to remember how to breathe right. Another firework sounds. Isaac thinks of zombie movies, explosions on screen, kissing Scott on his couch. Isaac licks his lips, says, “Want to know something?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies. Another firework. Isaac smiles.

“I would still like you even if you were a zombie.”

Scott shakes his head and pulls Isaac into a kiss with hands at his hips. There’s so much skin, so much _touch_ , Isaac has trouble keeping his head on straight. They move back inside, leaving the doors open to spill in warm summer air, but they never really part. Isaac pushes Scott back to the bed at the side of the room, straddles his hips, and kisses him with everything he knows, everything he’s learned over these weeks spent by Scott’s side.

And in kissing him, in hearing Scott breathe his name when Isaac leaves a mark on his neck, Isaac thinks maybe this is where he belongs. Maybe his place in the world is with Scott. And that’s maybe the most outrageous thought Isaac’s ever had, but it’s also... not. Because he’s never felt at home, never felt like he fit anywhere the way he does with Scott.

  
  
  
  


Scott says, whispered into the dim lights of the room, “We should... wait.” And Isaac pulls away to see the hesitance in those brown eyes. Scott leans up on his elbows, fingers running over Isaac’s forearm as he does so. “We don’t... _you_ don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I don’t want you to... rush into anything.”

Isaac stares at him for a moment, letting his words fill the room before he nods, slowly. “I’m _not_ doing anything I don’t want to,” he says quietly, forehead leaning down to be pressed to Scott’s. Scott swallows and Isaac thinks that he looks torn, like he doesn’t know if he wants to believe Isaac. “Scott. I want to do this. With you. Tonight.”

This time, after the moments of passing silence, Scott nods. And he says, “Okay,” with a whisper of a smile as Isaac leans back into his lips.

  
  
  
  


****

Isaac is clumsy, completely unsure of what he’s doing at all times. He’s new to this, new to everything Scott throws his way, but Scott is ever-patient and gentle and he guides Isaac through everything with a practiced sort of patience. He tells Isaac not to laugh at the condom in his wallet, tells him Stiles put it there as a joke, but Isaac says he’s definitely not laughing, even though Scott’s smile does put him at ease.

Scott goes slow and he breathes in sync with Isaac. It hurts, but Isaac had anticipated that. The pain goes away though, slowly, and Isaac lets Scott lead him through everything, despite the fact that he’s a little clumsy himself, a little unsure.

In the aftermath, they lie under the sheets holding each other with grips maybe a little too tight. Scott kisses Isaac softly, out of breath, and they look at each other both with heavy eyes and talk about the beach and fireworks with small smiles on their faces. Isaac traces shapes into the bare skin of Scott’s chest and listens to the faint hum of the last few people in the yard. Scott tells Isaac he likes his hair when Isaac says it probably looks like a mess and he kisses Isaac’s forehead in that way that melts his insides.

Isaac falls asleep listening to Scott’s story about the first time he and Stiles went to the beach with the Sheriff. Scott’s voice is a lullaby soundtrack, fading out with the fireworks.

Isaac has a new favorite holiday.

  
  
  


****

He wakes up to the sun pouring through the french doors at the end of the room, just barely rising over the water, to spill onto the bed. Isaac blinks his eyes open slowly to catch sight of Scott who sleeps soundly beside him, his chest exposed with the sheets gathering around his waist. Isaac smiles to himself. He wishes he had one of those polaroid cameras so that he could keep the way Scott looks right now, immortalize it. He thinks, though, that even a picture couldn’t quite capture the way Isaac feels in the moment, how easy it is to breathe and sleep beside Scott, to lie in his warmth.

It’s as he has that thought that Isaac realizes where he is. And what time it is.

It’s then that he realizes he never went home last night.

Isaac is up and moving in a matter of seconds, muttering curses to himself beneath his breath as he searches the room for wherever the hell Scott put their clothes last night. He’s moving quickly, flinching at any sound he hears coming from downstairs or outside of the room, even the birds outside have him jumping to face the back of the room. He finds his underwear beside the bed and then stumbles over a pair of jeans and steps into them, despite the fact that they’re still pretty damp. Beside them there’s a shirt that Isaac knows is definitely not his, but he doesn’t have time to care, just slips it over his head before jamming his feet into his sneakers by the door.

He thinks he hears Scott mumble something into the sheets before he leaves, but Isaac doesn’t even have the time to turn back before he’s shutting the door behind him, bolting down the hall.

God, he is so dead. He’s worse than dead. He is beyond dead. The look on his dad’s face is going to be something sinister and Isaac feels like his knees are about to give out, like he’s about to throw up everything he had last night when he realizes that he’s without a car to get home. He’s standing at the base of the stairs in the main hall, turning in full circles over and over again with his breath becoming more and more erratic by the second. There’s a few people in baby blue uniforms, cleaning up the rooms on the first floor, but they just look at Isaac with bored expressions. Nothing they haven’t seen before, clearly.

Isaac closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. _Just think_. Just think, he tells himself.

When he opens his eyes, he can see Boyd and Erica pulling out of their spot beside the main garage. And God, if that isn’t his golden ticket.

Isaac nearly rips the door open before he’s running as fast as his legs will carry him across the porch, the front yard, until he’s cutting in front of Boyd’s car, causing him to slam on the brakes. Erica, who looks half asleep and not in the mood for any of these antics, pulls off her sunglasses to stare at Isaac with her mouth hanging open.

“Isaac?” Boyd asks, rolling down his window.

“I need a ride,” He spits out. Boyd doesn’t hesitate, just motions for him to hop in the back. And Isaac does.

Isaac dismisses both of their questions throughout the entire ride. He sits at the edge of his seat, hands running through his hair and knees bouncing. He finds a silver lining in the fact that his cellphone is in the pockets of his jeans, but when it buzzes some ten minutes into the ride with a text notification, it takes every piece of sanity Isaac has left to type out a reply. The message is from Scott: " _Hey, did you already leave? I think you might have my shirt... not that I'm complaining._ " Isaac inhales sharply and manages to type back: " _Sorry. Going into work. Talk to you soon._ " He doesn’t answer when Erica asks if he’s coming into work, though. He simply thanks Boyd for the ride and jumps out of the car before either of them have the chance to say anything else.

His legs shake the entire walk up to the front door.

_Just breathe. C’mon, breathe. It’s not so bad. It won’t be that bad. Breathe._

The door creaks when Isaac pulls it open, but it doesn’t matter how quiet he would have been because his dad is standing in the living room, arms crossed over his chest and feet shoulder width apart. He’s been waiting. Isaac exhales.

“Hey,” Isaac says. His voice sounds unfamiliar, too quiet, too shaky. “I just... I worked this fair thing and I... it was late so -”

“You know,” his father cuts him off, tracing the rim of a glass on the coffee table beside him. “I think we have pretty reasonable rules around here. I don’t ask much of you, don’t make you pay rent. All I ask is that you be home by ten and you do your school work, but...” his dad sighs here, long and heavy. Dramatics, Isaac thinks, it’s all just a show to him. “I guess that’s just too hard for you to understand.”

Isaac shakes his head, maybe a little too fast. “It’s - no I... I’ve never been late before I just -”

“Tell you what,” he says and takes a few steps forwards, inching closer to where Isaac has his back pressed against the door. “You tell me where you were last night and where it is you’ve been sneaking off to lately and we’ll skip our little rule-reminder-lesson in the basement.”

“I was working,” Isaac says, but the answer doesn’t appease his father. He shakes his head.

“Wrong answer.” And with that, Isaac earns a blow to the chest. He coughs, bends over, and does his best to suck in as much air as he can. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. God, if he said anything about Scott, if he really did tell the truth.... “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, son: where were you last night?”

Isaac closes his eyes. Fine. He’ll try a different approach. “I was... with my friends.”

“Your friends? Funny how these friends have never come up before, huh?” Isaac says nothing. Maybe it’s better to just stay silent. But then his dad’s yanking him to eye level by his hair, pulling Isaac’s head back in a way that has him gasping again, in an entirely different way. “Who were you with? Isaac, who were you with?”

His dad’s eyes are narrowed and his teeth are clenched, like some sort of animal, ready to bite at Isaac’s veins, to tear him open as a feast. Isaac feels his blood boil, feels his insides heat up. “You really want to know?” Isaac asks, practically spitting out the words. His father seems surprised by the tone; that only makes Isaac’s heartbeat sky rocket. “I was with my _boyfriend_ last night. I’ve been with him this whole time. And you know what, Dad -”

Isaac doesn’t get to finish that thought, however. His mouth is met by his father’s fist and the blows keep coming, three at a time until Isaac’s lying on the floor, grasping at the stairs beside him as his father looks down at him. He throws the glass on the coffee table in Isaac’s direction and watches it break over Isaac’s head. His father is screaming all the while.

“You’re disgusting!” He yells. “I always told your mother there was something wrong with you! You don’t _deserve_ to be here, living the charmed life you do when you’re nothing but trash. I don’t want to look at you!”

Isaac hears the words as muffled, though, can’t quite listen when he’s coughing up something that tastes a lot like blood. His father throws picture frames in his direction, knocks over the front hall table when Isaac tries to crawl away so that it lands on his legs. Isaac winces even though he’s not really sure where the pain is stemming from anymore. His dad drags him up only to throw him down again. And he kicks Isaac in the direction of the basement, kicks him down the stairs until he can slam Isaac against the wall and knock him head first against the freezer.

He spits out the words worthless, less than human, _faggot_ , and Isaac feels blood drip from his forehead like warm syrup on skin.

This time, when his dad shoves him into the icebox, Isaac sees it as an action of mercy, as a gift. He’s grateful for it. But he can’t appreciate it for long because he can’t keep his eyes open. Everything goes fuzzy in a swirl of warmth and red and a wave of numbness.

When everything’s going black, Isaac thinks of the first day he met Scott. And he thinks he tastes tears mixed with the blood.

 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much to everyone for the nice words of encouragement! And thank you for the patience! I think we're in the homestretch here. Enjoy!

Isaac sits on the couch with Camden with the windows in the living room left open, the curtains blowing in. There’s a storm brewing outside - green and black clouds mixing to cover the sky in bruises. The air feels warm, like summer, but it hurts his chest when Isaac breathes it in. The lights are off, Isaac realizes, and the wind’s picking up, whistling when it blows through the house. The pictures on the wall rattle with the storm.

“What do you want to watch?” Camden says - simple, easy. He is fifteen, Isaac thinks, maybe sixteen, but he’s not as old as when Isaac last saw him. He doesn’t look at Isaac, just keeps his eyes on the TV screen before him, flipping absently through the channels. Isaac opens his mouth to force out a reply, but his throat feels like it’s full of salt water. Camden sighs. “Whatever. Star Wars it is. Even though we’ve seen it like eight times.”

The wind whistles by again and this time rain slates on the roof, coming down hard and fast. Isaac thinks the roof might be leaking because he can feel water on his skin, but Camden seems un-phased by any of this. Isaac can’t breathe.

There’s someone in the hallway, coming closer to the living room with heavy footsteps. Maybe they’re wearing work boots or maybe they’re stepping too hard on the wood floors, but whatever it is, Isaac hears every move they make. Camden doesn’t even flinch. And the water keeps dripping from the ceiling. Maybe Isaac should close the windows, maybe he should call for help. But who would answer?

The footsteps stop and there’s a person in the doorway, but Isaac can’t quite make them out. They keep coming out of focus, like the bottom row of letters on an eye exam. Isaac thinks they might be saying something, but all he can hear is a string of muffled sounds, like there’s cotton in his ears. Camden turns up the volume of the television, though, and Isaac hears that just fine. The voice keeps us, keeps rising until the muffle turns into something that sounds a lot like Isaac’s name - a continuous chant.

The figure is moving now, too, raising its arms above its head and Isaac thinks it looks distressed. Maybe it’s in trouble. Maybe it’s hurt. Isaac tries to say something, but even when he tries to yell, tries to raise his voice to reach just those few feet across the room, it sounds like he’s miles away from himself.

His hands are shaking now and he thinks maybe he can get Camden to help, but when he cranes his neck back, his brother isn’t there anymore. And Isaac’s not in the living room. He’s outside and the wind is blowing and the rain keeps coming down harder and that voice is still surrounding him. This time, the figure is a little bolder, a little easier to make out - broad shoulders, tall even from Isaac’s perspective, with a shock of dark hair.

“Derek?”

The wind blows Isaac’s hair into his eyes. Everything goes gray.

  
  
  
  
  


There’s something in his mouth that tastes like rust, but his throat is dry and he can’t feel his jaw. There’s a radio playing beside his ear and something is crawling its way across his forehead. But Isaac can’t move; he can barely open his eyes. When he tries, everything is blurred and a little discolored. There’s a light directly above him that makes him wince and when he coughs, it’s a wet sound.

Suddenly, something’s pushing him down against the ground and he realizes there is no radio beside him and there’s nothing on his head. But there’s someone kneeling above him with a hand resting at the side of his head. They’re speaking, in the lowest, gruffest voice Isaac’s ever heard, with a tone of questioning. Isaac can’t make out anything they’re saying except for something that might be his name and “hear me” over and over again.

He exhales and his entire chest aches. There’s immediately a hand at the center of his chest and more murmurs and Isaac’s eyes are feeling way too heavy to be of any use, but he can make out those broad shoulders, that shock of dark hair. When his eyes close, he sees his front yard and the battered sky. The wind whistles. Or maybe it’s just his ears ringing.

“Isaac, can you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer.

  
  
  
  
  


Isaac thinks maybe there’s a bandage on his head, the next time he opens his eyes. There’s something above his eye, tugging at his skin, but when he reaches up to touch it, he catches sight of a taped down patch of gauze on the inside of his forearm and he has to blink several times just to process the fact that he definitely didn’t put it there. It’s then that he realizes whatever room he’s in is much too large and much too comforting to be the freezer inside of his basement, where he is fairly certain - but not a hundred percent sure - he should be right now.

He’s able to prop himself up on his elbows after a few grueling moments of straining his vision into a straight line to take in the white walls, the opened closet doors to his side, the single window drawn shut with gray blinds. The room is small, void of any furniture except for the bed he’s lying on, strewn on top of the sheets, and a nightstand at either side. The one closest to him is home to a simple alarm clock, a lamp, and a picture that Isaac would know anywhere. It’s the same one that hangs in the hallway leading to the bathrooms at Laura’s. It shows a couple in their mid thirties with the brightest smiles you ever did see, all dressed up like they’re heading to a big party. The woman has a hand on a shoulder of each of the two children standing before her and the man’s cradling a wrapped up bundle of a baby in his arms. They all have the same dark hair and a variation of the same hazel or green eyes.

It’s a picture of the Hale family. And this is Derek’s bedroom.

Isaac inhales.

He has to close his eyes again after a few moments, but he manages to stop his head from spinning long enough to pull himself up into an actual sitting position. He then comes to the realization, suddenly, that his chest is bare - and covered in a few sizable scratches. Isaac traces his fingers over them. They’re a little puffy - irritated, fresh. He closes his eyes, sucks in a breath until his throat feels raw, and lets it out in time with the rain that’s beating on the window.

Isaac focuses on that sound, listens to the light weight of the drizzle on glass instead of digging into the pressing memories of how these scratches came to be. Isaac doesn’t even want to think about what the rest of him looks like. God, he’s never felt this kind of drumming sensation in his head before. Even the walls seem to blur when Isaac looks at them for more than a few seconds. Maybe he’s not even awake right now... maybe he’s still in that half-conscious place.

A car engine revs in the distance, a few streets over and resounds against Derek’s window. Isaac breathes, counts to five, and thinks about cars and everything Derek’s every told him about mechanics. What he’s not thinking of is the way his dad used Isaac’s only happy memories - the few photos of his mom and Camden and The Old Ways still lying around the house - as weapons against him. He’s not thinking about the way his dad saw him in tears, a bloodied mess rolling its way down the stairs, and he still found it in himself to deliver blow after blow after blow. And he’s definitely not thinking about those words, the “You’re not my son! No kid of mine is going to be walking around as some fag!” or the “I always told your mother there was something wrong with you!” No, that one he’s definitely not thinking about.

Isaac pulls a hand through his hair and tries not to let the sinking feeling in his stomach take over when he finds pieces of dried blood on his fingers, peeling from his hair in flakes. The floorboards in the hallway, outside of the bedroom, creak and Isaac watches the door, counts the seconds until Derek appears in its open frame. He has a glass of water in his hand and there’s something dark staining most of his shirt. Isaac doesn’t want to let himself realize what it must be.

Derek’s eyes widen for just a second when he catches sight of Isaac, but he has his expression schooled back into something rational soon enough. He looks at Isaac with a heavy stare, scanning his body before he sets the glass of water down on the nightstand. Derek says nothing the whole time - just moves around his room in a silence that has Isaac sitting as still as possible and concentrating on keeping his eyes open as best as he can. Derek goes into his closet and rummages around until he pulls out something black. Then he’s moving over to the other nightstand and pulling open the drawer to retrieve what looks like his cellphone. He doesn’t look at it, though, just slips it into his back pocket. Isaac wants to ask Derek how he got here or if Derek knows about the blood on his shirt, but every question he comes up with seems so weird, so hard to say out loud.

Derek sits at the edge of the bed, a few inches from Isaac’s feet and hands over the black something - a sweatshirt as it turns out - wordlessly. Isaac slips it over his head a little shakily, his arms not wanting to bend the right way, but the material is big and sags in every place, so it’s comfortable. Isaac buries his hands into the sleeves. He takes the water from the nightstand and drinks in small gulps. He's grateful for the drink the moment it hits his throat, something to give him a chance at being able to communicate again.

For a long time, though, he can't say anything. He just sits with Derek, listening to the rain beat against the side of the apartment in random patterns.

And then Derek says, in a low rumble, "How's your head?" Isaac blinks. He reaches a hand up to run his fingers along the bandage above his eyebrow, but he can't really assess the damage. Derek reaches forward, grabs Isaac's hand, and pulls it down slowly. "Don't touch it."

"Sorry," Isaac says, but he can't be sure if Derek can understand his rasped out whisper. He takes another gulp of water. The room falls silent again and Isaac takes to tugging at the strings of Derek's sweatshirt absently.

“You lost a lot of blood, you know,” Derek says, out of time with the rain. “If you feel dizzy or nauseous we should probably... take you to the hospital.”

Isaac’s eyebrows knit together and he shakes his head, which doesn’t really help the whole blurry-vision thing at all, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to a place with paperwork and white walls and people who will ask him questions. Big questions. Dad questions. He asks, almost coughed out, “I lost blood from here?” and he points to where the bandage is covering the side of his forehead.

Derek nods and sighs, like he’s exhausted himself with the thought of trying to explain Isaac’s own injuries to him. “Mostly from your head, yeah. Those scratches on your chest weren’t so pretty, either, especially the ones on your back. That thing on your elbow, there used to a hunk of glass rammed in there, and I think we picked all of the other glass from your arms, too. It um... it wasn’t pretty, Isaac. And there’s nothing I can do about the bruises.”

Isaac nods, slowly, trying to let Derek know that he’s taking everything in. God, he so doesn’t want to look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to _move_ from his current spot for maybe a week, though, so he doesn’t think that will be an issue. In the midst of processing Derek’s explanation, Isaac catches something in his words. “We?”

“What?”

“You said...” Isaac shifts, clears his throat. He realizes in licking his lips that there’s a split in the bottom one - fresh, raw. It’s probably almost black by now. “You said ‘we’ picked out the glass.”

“Erica was here,” Derek says. And there’s a hint of questioning in his voice. He’s looking at Isaac like he’s searching for something in his face, like he doesn’t understand why Isaac would need to ask that. “You don’t remember?”

Well, that’s mildly terrifying. Isaac shakes his head because, no, he doesn’t remember having chunks of glass pulled from his skin by anyone - let alone Erica. Quite frankly, he’s not sure what he’s _supposed_ to remember. He thinks he remembers a shadow of a person kneeling over him, lying on the concrete floor of the basement instead of inside of the freezer. He thinks he remembers hearing his name. He remembers vividly how he wound up in the basement. That part of it is just fine in his head. Everything else is just lost time.

“Erica and Boyd showed up for work,” Derek explains, his voice slow and steady. It’s oddly comforting to Isaac, like those little diner sounds he misses after his shifts. “And they told me you were acting weird, said you were practically shaking and not talking to anyone and you ran into your house before they could ask if you were alright. I thought... I guess I thought you’d missed your curfew. They said you stayed out all night. I tried calling you, but you never picked up, so I drove by your house.” Derek stops, says nothing else at all. He exhales and sets his jaw, but his eyes are fixated at a point on the wall behind Isaac’s head. There’s a few moments where Isaac waits for Derek to finish his story, but when it’s clear that he has nothing else to say, Isaac feels his eyebrows raise again.

“And then what?” He asks, voice regaining a little stability now. “You just broke in through the back door?” Derek sighs and looks Isaac in the eye. That’s answer enough. “Holy shit, Derek. You broke into my house?”

“I didn’t know if you were okay.”

“Oh my god. What did you do, break a window to unlock the door?” Silence. Isaac laughs, as best he can, bitterly. “Derek.”

“You could have died, Isaac. Do you get that? You could have bled out in that freezer if I hadn’t shown up.”

“What if my dad had been there?”

“That would have been better. I could have told him then and there that you aren’t coming back.”

Isaac runs a hand through his hair, his fingers catching uncomfortably at the end of the bandage. He’s shaking his head, slowly, but Derek has so much more of an advantage in this argument - with his strong voice and eyes that allow him to see things for what they are instead of as a half-shadowed mess. “Where am I supposed to go, Derek? I’m eighteen in October. That’s four months from now. It’s nothing.”

“And where do you think you’re going after that? You think you’re going to blow half of your college money on some overpriced, run down apartment for half of your senior year? Sounds like a great plan. If you make it until then. Four months isn’t ‘nothing’, Isaac. And even after that, do you think living on your own is going to be that easy?”

Isaac balls his hands into fists inside of the sweatshirt sleeves and he sets his jaw, too, in the same way Derek has his. “Why do you care? This has _nothing_ to do with you, Derek.”

“It has a lot to do with me when I’m the one carrying your unconscious body up the stairs!” Derek’s voice nearly breaks a yell and he’s got his hands out in front of him in helpless, desperate gestures. He stands abruptly, shaking his head all the while, and he still won’t meet Isaac’s eyes. “You know what? Fine. You want to do it on your own? Be my guest. You can march yourself right back through your front door tomorrow. Just don’t expect me to stand there and watch.” He’s out the door in a matter of seconds, fists at his side, and Isaac is left to deflate with heavy breaths pushing in and out of his chest. He presses his forehead into his palm, listens to the rain, lets his eyes sort themselves out. And then the front door of Derek’s apartment is slamming shut and Isaac is left in this unfamiliar room with a lump in his throat and a ringing sensation in his ears.

He pulls out his phone and there’s a smear of blood across the screen.

The wind whistles. Isaac cringes at the sound.

  
  
  
  
  


Isaac can’t stay in Derek’s bed without the temptation of sleep - which he definitely shouldn’t be doing because he’s pretty sure he’s got one hell of a concussion going on. So, he makes his way to the kitchen which is basically the only other room in the apartment considering it leaks into the living room with a little almost-closet type door off to the side to house Derek’s own washing machine and dryer. There’s a sandwich on the counter and a Laura’s to-go cup to its side. On a napkin beneath it, Isaac can see Derek’s barely legible handwriting: “ _Erica says it’s your ‘usual’, so if it’s not, blame her_ ”. Something that feels a lot like guilt sprawls itself in Isaac’s stomach, but he's way too hungry to let it bother him for too long.

His head feels a little better after he eats about half of the sandwich and he chugs the Cherry Coke left beside it. He feels a little more stable, finds it a little easier to stand without wobbling over.

Derek's couch is a shade of mossy green and the material is worn down and comfortable when Isaac curls himself into a corner of it. He puts the TV on, but he has to turn the volume down to something nearly inaudible for his ears to quit turning everything into a distant fuzz. It's almost one in the afternoon, Isaac realizes, when a rerun of FRIENDS plays on screen. The little green numbers on the cable box stare up at him, but Isaac can't form a reaction.

For a few minutes he can let his mind get lost in the ever-pressing rollercoaster story of Ross and Rachel, but Jennifer Aniston starts crying about something, and Isaac has to busy himself with his phone.

There's a new text from Scott.

- _OK. Do you want to get lunch later? Stiles is in a really good mood - offering to take everyone out for Mexican or s/t if you want in?_

It's an old message, from shortly after when Isaac texted him this morning from Boyd's car. He has to scrub at the screen with the sleeves of Derek's sweatshirt for a few minutes to remove most of the blood, but once he does the words are left staring him down, questions left unanswered. Isaac wonders what Scott would say if he saw him like this. There would be no way in hell that he would let this one go, Isaac knows that. He could only imagine the look on Scott's face, the way his eyes would harden. It's not a particularly comforting thought.

But despite that, Isaac still wishes Scott were with him. He wishes he could pull Scott close and have him bury his fingers in Isaac's hair and tell him everything would be okay, even if that wasn't true. And he wishes Scott could help him sort things out, help him realize what it was Derek was trying to say when he was yelling at Isaac. Scott is his momentary fix when all else fails. And Isaac wants to be okay for him.

He's hovering his fingers over the keys of his phone in a contemplative effort to respond when the front door of the apartment pushes open and insteps Erica, first aid kit in hand. She has her hair pulled back, which is a rarity in itself, and her Laura's tee shirt looks like it might belong to Boyd with the way it fits her more like a pajama top, bunching in the way Derek’s sweatshirt does on Isaac’s chest. Isaac feels something heavy sink inside of him when he thinks about how she must have been covered in blood, too. Just like Derek.

"Hey good looking," she greets, but her smile isn't quite the same - it's a little softer, a little more hesitant. She joins Isaac on the couch, sitting opposite him and doesn't take a moment's pause before she's opening up and unloading the first aid kit between them.

"What are you doing here?" Isaac asks because it's all he can think to say other than an apology for probably ruining her Friday morning.

"I'm going to be your official nurse," Erica explains, as if this should be obvious. "We've gotta switch out your band-aids. "

Isaac nods, slowly, and he lets Erica reach up to peel back the bandage from his forehead, only wincing slightly when the sticky part clings to his skin. She apologizes, quietly, but Isaac doesn't miss the way her eyes try not to fixate on the completely blood-stained material. Isaac sees it for the first time and he knows his own eyes must be at least twice their normal size. Derek wasn't kidding when he said Isaac lost a lot of blood. Erica begins wiping off his forehead and applying the new cover in silence, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration as she does so. Isaac watches her face all the while and takes comfort in the way her eyebrows knit together in the same way they do when she's changing the receipt paper for the register.

When the new bandage is secured and positioned to Erica's liking, she tells him to take off the sweatshirt so she can see the scratches on his chest and the cuts on his arms. He does so, a little relucantly because he's sort of inwardly shaking, and Erica looks at his bare chest only to say, "So, this is like a sneak peek of what Scott saw last night, huh? Minus the blood?"

Isaac rolls his eyes and tries to fight the heat rising in his cheeks. "Erica."

"Don't even deny it," she says as she grabs a hold of his wrist to extend his arm, already prodding at the bandage on his elbow. "Everyone saw you two ditch the fireworks last night."

Isaac shakes his head and lets Erica wipe down the cuts on his arms for a few moments before he asks the question that’s been crawling its way out since he woke up. “Has he.... Did he um....”

“No,” Erica answers. She doesn’t even have to hear the rest of Isaac’s question to know what he wants to ask. Isaac is grateful. “Scott hasn’t been by today. But you can’t....” She sighs here and leans back from examining Isaac’s arm to fully look him in the eye. “You can’t keep something like this from him, Isaac. This is serious. I thought - We thought that you could have... we thought it could have been a lot worse. And now Derek’s talking about you moving in here, and there’s the whole thing about -”

“Wait, what?”

Erica blinks. She fixes Isaac with a questioning look. “What?”

“You said Derek’s talking about me moving in here.” Erica nods, slowly, and suddenly Isaac feels a knot at the base of his stomach. “I didn’t um, I didn’t know that’s what he meant. I sort of.... we might have....”

“So, you’re the one who pissed in his cereal.” Erica shakes her head, but when she catches sight of Isaac’s expression, she immediately goes back into comfort-mode and puts a hand on his knee, rubbing circles into his skin with her thumb. “Hey, hey - don’t worry about it. Derek loves you, okay? You’re his absolute number one best friend, whether or not he wants to admit it out loud. We have joint custody over you. He only wants to help.”

“Yeah but... moving in here? I couldn’t ask him to let me do that, Er.”

“You’re not asking him to let you do anything. He’s asking you.” Erica’s voice is steady, confident, but Isaac still sighs into the living room. She nudges his chin in her direction then and tells him, in maybe the most sincere voice he’s ever heard leave her mouth, “I don’t want to lose you, Isaac. None of us do. I thought... there was so much blood this morning and you weren’t breathing right and your eyes kept closing. I just thought....” Her voice starts to waver at the ends of her sentences and Isaac can see that she’s biting her lip in what might be a will not to cry.

“Erica,” he says, and his voice is quiet, too - not quite all there. “I’m okay.” She nods, but doesn’t seem convinced, and looks off to her side, still worrying her lip between her teeth. “I’m okay to handle this by myself.”

This time when she turns back, her eyes are void of fear, but replaced by something that might be confusion. She’s shaking her head and there’s a breath being huffed out. “This has nothing to do with whether or not you can ‘handle’ it, Isaac. This isn’t about you; it’s about the people who love you. We’re sick of watching you get hurt. And we’re not going to let it happen anymore. There’s too many of us to just keep standing by.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as Isaac breathes in and watches Erica’s eyes on his face. Too many, she said, too many people who love him.

Isaac inhales deeply, slowly, and he lets himself think of the reasons she might be right. He thinks about Derek and the look on his face when he talked about carrying Isaac up the basement stairs. He thinks about the times Derek let him sleep in the back of the diner and the times Derek used to drive him home when it was raining or when it got cold in the winter. He thinks about Erica, sitting in front of him, or sitting in Boyd’s car, telling him she loved him. He thinks about Boyd, who always passes ice packs through the kitchen window when Isaac comes in with a particularly nasty bruise on his eye. He thinks about Lydia and the way she linked arms with him that time during the summer before junior year when the four of them went out for dinner across the street. She’d tugged him closer to her when they passed a group of Isaac’s classmates, making some snide remark to Isaac about how much cooler he was than anyone else in town - let alone his shitty school.

He thinks about Stiles and Danny and their eyes on the bruises and cuts - questioning, but never daring to speak aloud. He thinks about their love for Scott and their open arms to Isaac, letting him come to breakfast and allowing him space in their kitchen, in their house. He thinks about Melissa, who squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him and told him “thank you” for keeping her son busy when really Isaac should have thanked her for having a son in the first place because this summer has so far been the best ever-running memory he’s had in a long time.

Isaac thinks about Scott. Scott who says that Isaac is important, who says Isaac means something, who kisses Isaac between smiles and makes Isaac laugh even when it’s too hot outside and he’s exhausted simply from existing. Isaac thinks about the way Scott had looked at him when he found out about his father and he thinks of Scott’s fingers squeezing his, whispering to Isaac that he doesn’t want him to get hurt. Isaac thinks of the way Scott had held him last night - skin on skin in the pale light of the moon seeping in through the open doors. He thinks about the way Scott so desperately asked him to let him in, to see Isaac’s shadowy places so he could bring light to them, too. He thinks about the first time he kissed Scott, beneath the beams of the boardwalk. He thinks about Scott, walking into the bathroom of Laura’s and saying, “You should really put peroxide on that or something.”

Isaac thinks about the people he loves. And the people who love him. And he realizes that Erica is right. Because if Scott were in trouble - if Derek or Erica or Boyd or Lydia, if any one of them were being hurt - he wouldn’t stand by and let it happen, either.

“Okay,” he says.

Erica’s eyebrows draw together again. “Okay what?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to Derek.”

Erica hugs him with something fierce, her arms around him tightly, and Isaac ignores the pain in his back when she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He squeezes her right back. And through his hold, he hopes she can hear the I love you, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Erica stays with him for another couple of hours, ordering him into the shower and then applying fresh bandages when he comes out, with a pleased expression on her face. They watch part of _Monsters Inc._ on ABC Family and Erica puts her feet in Isaac’s lap, repeatedly making comparisons between Derek and several of the secretly-soft monsters. They manage to find a bag of popcorn amid Derek’s crazy health food, in addition to a jumbo bag of cheese curls and a six pack of Dr. Pepper, each which raise confused expressions from both Isaac and Erica.

“Maybe he hoards them,” Isaac suggests.

“Maybe his new boyfriend brought them over,” Erica says with a wink. Isaac actually laughs.

It’s close to four when Erica gets a call from Boyd, telling her that the diner is starting to get swamped with an early dinner crowd and that Derek hasn’t been by at all since he left Isaac at the apartment. When Erica asks where he is, Boyd says that he hasn’t been answering his phone. Isaac tries to ignore the swelling guilt in his chest.

Boyd also asks to talk to Isaac and when Erica passes over her phone, Isaac is greeted with a very firm, but warm nevertheless, “You better not scare me like that again, man. We need your ass back here serving up pancakes ASAP. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Isaac tells him, unable to help the grin that crawls onto his face. Boyd tells him he has to go before he drops the phone into a pan of eggs, but not before he makes some promise about a movie night at Derek’s apartment and tells Isaac to “Feel better. Seriously. For my sake. We need you.” Erica takes her phone back with a wide smile and ruffles Isaac’s hair - “Erica, don’t” - before she starts moving about the room again.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright here?” Erica asks for the third time while gathering up the supplies of the first aid kit before leaving it on the counter.

Isaac nods, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “I think I’m going to take a walk, actually. You know, fresh air....”

Erica cocks an eyebrow. “It’s still raining.”

“Even better.”

She actually smiles at that, standing in front of the door with her hand on the knob. She hesitates there, looking Isaac over one last time before she’s moving back into his space, squeezing him into one last hug. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to do this, doesn’t have to keep physically reminding him that he’s okay, but Isaac thinks Erica’s hugs are less for his benefit and more for hers. And he’s more than happy to make sure Erica knows she is okay. Besides, Isaac’s always sort of prided himself on being the one person - other than Boyd, that is - who gets to see the part of Erica that wants to be like this.

“Thank you,” Isaac mumbles when she pulls away. “For, um... for everything.”

Erica shakes her head. “Don’t thank me. Just talk to Derek, okay? And don’t go back home yet. I don’t think I can do that again.” Isaac nods and promises, and Erica actually kisses his cheek before she ruffles his hair again - “ _Erica, seriously_ ” - and makes her way out the door and down the steps from the second story. Isaac is left in the silence of her wake with a dull pulsating rhythm in the back of his head. He just needs to get out.

Isaac stuffs his feet into his sneakers - which he finds at the front door - and grabs  the key marked “spare” from Derek’s junk drawer in the kitchen. The rain is, true to Erica’s word, still coming down steadily when Isaac makes his way outside, but he finds it easy to take when he draws up the hood of Derek’s sweatshirt.

His legs are still sore and there’s still that muffled buzz in the back of his head, but the air makes him feel a little lighter, makes it a little easier to breathe. He walks a few blocks from the apartment building until he reaches town, a couple streets over from the diner. He cuts through a few back alleys and cuts his way across an empty intersection until he reaches the park. There’s a couple huddled together beneath an umbrella, smiling and laughing and sharing some kind of warmth that Isaac feels bounce off of him.

He curls his fingers into his palm and closes his eyes for a moment.

If he tries hard enough, he can turn the voice into his head - the “ _I always told your mother...._ ” - into something comforting, something that blankets him in ease. He can change it to Scott’s whispered, “ _You’re important to me._ ”

The rain is starting to feel sticky, the air growing thick, and Isaac realizes how truly tired he is. He feels like he doesn’t want to sleep - can’t sleep, really, not with his head - but instead he feels the kind of tired that comes from exhausting everyone around you. Because he’s hurt Erica without meaning to and he’s worried Lydia and Boyd, no doubt. He gave Derek shit after he took care of Isaac in the most unfathomable way. And maybe he’s just tired of being this problem that he constantly feels the need to apologize for. Maybe he just wants to lie down and bury himself in something familiar.

When he catches sight of himself in a car window, Isaac nearly flinches. Black eye on his right, a more-purple-than-maroon bruise on his left, and the split in his lower lip is darker than Isaac had originally thought, poking out from his skin in a weird crescent shape. The bandage on his forehead really does take up more than half of the upper portion of his face and Isaac can see a few pieces of dried blood beside his ear that he must have missed in the shower. There’s a scrape on his neck and an oddly shaped bruise on his chin, another on his cheek. At least, he thinks, his face matches his arms and his chest.

His throat still feels like it might be working against him.

Isaac lets his legs carry him away from his reflection, down the street, further away from the diner. He walks for a few moments, inhaling the thick air, until he realizes where he’s been heading towards subconsciously, where’s he’s been wanting to go without having to really tell himself to head there. So, it’s not long before he’s standing in front of Scott’s house, hands in the middle-pocket of Derek’s sweatshirt, bouncing on the balls of his feet like maybe if he just stands here long enough, Scott will come outside.

But Scott doesn’t come and Isaac doesn’t even know if he’s home - maybe he’s still out with Stiles, the Jeep is gone, after all. Maybe he should just go back to the apartment. He can tell Scott he came down with some kind of flu and that he’ll be contagious for the rest of the summer - that way he won’t have to see Isaac like this.

But... things are getting... _better_ , Isaac thinks. Things are going to... change. He’s going to pull himself out of the place that’s causing him to lose his mind and there’s a part of him that keeps saying he won’t be able to do it without Scott. Isaac doesn’t actually think he’ll be able to last another day until he hears what Scott has to say about everything, until he can at least pull some sort of “it will be okay” lie from Scott’s lips.

Isaac dials his number without really looking at the screen and lets his breath puff out into the open air during the two rings from the other end. Scott answers with an easy, “Hey, I was just about to call you.” Isaac clutches to his voice like a light at the end of a tunnel.

“Oh,” Isaac says - he tries to make it into a question, something lighthearted, but it doesn’t come out quite right. “I um... didn’t text you back.”

“It’s okay,” Scott tells him. “Have you seen your dad yet today? Was he home when you were there?”

Isaac keeps his eyes on the ground. Inhale. Exhale. Maybe Scott thinks he just went straight to the diner, maybe he thinks that Isaac was able to pull something off so that his dad never noticed he was gone. God, if Isaac was smarter.... “Are you home?” He asks and it’s a sudden question, one that seems to put Scott on edge, because when he says, “Yeah. Why? Are you okay?” there’s something in his voice that tells him Scott very well knows he’s not.

“I’m outside.”

Scott opens the front door a mere thirty seconds later, still with the phone pressed to his ear. He sees Isaac at the base of the front steps, but Isaac has to look up slowly, has to let Scott take him in small doses. It doesn’t help - nothing ever does - because Scott’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open and he’s just sort of staring at Isaac like he’s not sure what’s going on or how everything came to this when last night there were fireworks and smiles whispered into the darkness and bare skin being traced with soft touches. And Isaac doesn’t know how to explain, he doesn’t know how to tell Scott that he actually tried for the first time in a long, _long_ time to tell his dad something true, something honest about his life in hopes of being greeted with something like love or even tolerance. He doesn’t know how to tell Scott that it’s all because of _him_ that Isaac is broken, but he can still stand.

Isaac feels like his eyes might be burning and his throat suddenly feels even heavier, like it’s swelling up with unspoken words. He says, “I told my dad.” And the words are a little watery, his cheeks stained already, despite efforts, but Scott is moving quickly, down the steps to catch Isaac when he crumples. He wraps an arm around Isaac’s back so that Isaac can bury his face into Scott’s shoulder and there’s another hand weaving through his hair. Scott’s shaking a little bit, too, but it’s nowhere nearly as bad as Isaac. But for the first time since he’s woken up, Isaac is allowed to let go, to lean on someone completely. And he takes advantage of that fully, holding onto Scott just as tightly.

And when Scott says, “It’s okay, Isaac. You’re okay now. I’m here,” Isaac breathes it in.

  
  
  
  
  


Scott coaxes Isaac inside, out of the rain, and up to his room without much struggle. Isaac leans on him all the while, letting Scott rub his thumbs across Isaac’s cheeks and rubs gently at the skin beneath his now completely damp sweatshirt. Isaac notices, in the quiet climb up the stairs, that Scott is still wearing the shirt Isaac wore to the Fourth of July party. He points it out to Scott, mumbled into the familiar air of his bedroom and Scott smiles - sadly, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

Scott pushes down the hood of Isaac sweatshirt and looks over the bandage on his forehead, tracing his fingers over the corner. His eyes search the rest of Isaac’s face for a few moments and Isaac just knows that Scott is doing everything he can to stay calm. He can see that muted rage behind Scott’s eyes, the panic, but Scott says nothing. He simply pulls at the base of the hoodie until Isaac is lifting his arms so that the now heavy with rain material slips off, over his shoulders and head. Scott nearly gasps at the sight of the scratches on his Isaac’s chest, but he catches himself. There’s still a sharp exhale, a shaking of his head, and Scott even closes his eyes for a moment before he says, “What happened?”

“Stairs,” Isaac explains, motioning to his chest. He holds up his arms before referencing the bandage on his elbow with a short, “Glass.”

Scott shakes his head. “Isaac.”

“He wanted to know the truth, so I told him. He didn’t... take it very well.” When Scott’s eyes just continue to search Isaac’s chest, he continues, quietly. “He told me I wasn’t human, Scott. He just kept... yelling and I didn’t know what to say. So, I didn’t say anything. And so... things got bad. Really bad. Derek says that I lost a lot of blood from my head. I guess maybe he’s right because things are still kind of....” He motions with his hands, something incoherent to show the mis-shapes of his vision. “I don’t... I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I guess I just... wanted him to be okay with me, you know?” Isaac shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, his eyes on the ground. “It was stupid and I should have just... kept my mouth shut. And I’m... really, _really_ sorry, Scott. I’m just... sorry.”

“Isaac,” Scott says and he’s moving into Isaac’s space, lifting his chin carefully between his thumb and forefinger. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You deserve to be accepted by your own family, okay? You deserve a dad who doesn’t... hurt you like this. Or in any way. Don’t _ever_ apologize for this.” He’s holding Isaac’s eyes with steady ones of his own, wide and a little brighter than usual, a little glossier. Isaac bites down at the inside of his cheek because there’s no way he’s going to make it if _Scott_ starts crying because of _him_. “This is because you stayed out last night, though? Because you didn’t come home?”

Isaac shakes his head and he cuts Scott’s next words off with a sad smile and his own half-whispered, “I don’t regret it.”

Scott lets out a slow breath and laughs out something watery. He takes Isaac’s face in his hands carefully, avoiding the bruises with practiced skill before he leans up rest their foreheads together. Isaac kisses the corner of Scott’s mouth, careful about the split in his own lip, and he presses his nose against Scott’s temple. The room is quiet, with the only sound being the rain against the windows, the outer walls, and the distant hum of Danny’s speakers down the hall. Scott runs his fingers carefully beside the scrapes on Isaac’s back, pads his thumb over the arc-shaped cut above his hip.

Isaac thinks maybe he’s okay with letting Scott be his safe place, his hiding spot. He isn’t afraid of that anymore.

  
  
  
  
  


“I should have been there. With Derek. I should have stopped by this morning after Danny dropped me off.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I _should_ have known.”

Isaac leans his forehead against Scott’s shoulder, sitting with his legs crossed on Scott’s bed. Scott sits in front of him and he runs his fingers through the back of Isaac’s hair when he leans forward, an instinctive move.

“You’re here now.”

Isaac feels Scott’s lips bury in the top of his head, feels Scott’s hand rub at the bare skin of his back slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  
  
  
  
  


They go to dinner at Laura’s around eight and even though the Friday night crowd is roaring, Lydia and Erica refuse to let Isaac help at all. They eat at the bar so that they can see Boyd, who spares Isaac a few seconds out of the kitchen to embrace him a hug that crushes his shoulders through a borrowed Beacon Hills Lacrosse shirt. Isaac wears it proudly, likes the way the fabric is warm and smells like Scott’s shampoo. Although, when Erica asks, he tells her he picked it out because Derek’s sweatshirt was wet.

Lydia serves them both sandwiches and gives Isaac both sweet potato fries and barbeque chips - just incase the special treatment wasn’t already clear. Scott holds his hand all throughout dinner, except for the brief moments in which he’s rubbing at Isaac’s back or brushing stray curls from Isaac’s face. The bandage does make him feel like he’s some sort of beacon for wandering eyes, but it’s hard for Isaac to feel out of place in Laura’s. It’s hard for him not to feel that sort of _home_ sensation.

Erica forces a piece of apple pie on them before they leave, which Scott only really picks at, but Isaac’s more than content to eat most of considering he still feels like he ran a marathon after every five steps he takes. Existing sure builds up one hell of an appetite.

They get Lydia to give them a ride to Derek’s apartment, which is brief, but nice all the same because they talk about Lydia’s party and how much fun they all had, respectively. When they pull up to the building, Lydia grabs a hold of Isaac’s wrist before he leaves and says, “You know you can call me, right? Whenever. About anything. I’m not saying you have to, I’m just saying you can. If you wanted to.”

Isaac smiles. “Thanks, Lydia.”

He doesn’t miss the way her lips turn up the slightest bit before he pulls himself from her car, twisting his fingers in Scott’s for the walk up to Derek’s apartment.

It’s not surprising that someone’s home when Isaac unlocks the door. No, not at all. What’s surprising is that the person is Stiles. Scott and Isaac both stop in their tracks when they catch sight of Stiles walking out of the only spare bedroom of the apartment. He doesn’t seem phased by the door opening, but when he catches sight of who it is, he nearly jumps, arms flying at odd angles away from his body.

“Stiles?” Scott asks, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Hey, _hey_ guys.” Stiles rubs at the back of his neck, turning around as if he’s checking for someone behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Scott replies and it’s the most absolutely confused tone Isaac’s ever heard. It’s achingly adorable.

But just as Scott’s finished speaking, the door is opening behind them again and Derek is stepping through, a duffle bag obviously nearly bursting open in his arms. He’s talking before he’s even through the door frame, calling out, “I thought we agreed to leave everything marked ‘Junior Year’.” But he’s skidding to a stop as soon as he sees Scott and Isaac, as well. He doesn’t say anything, just flicks his eyes between them and then back to Stiles.

And that’s when Isaac sees it, the familiarity in Derek’s gaze - he hears the ease in Derek’s voice and sees the small smile that was covering his lips before he took in his surroundings. That’s when Isaac realizes who it is that Derek’s been spending an awful lot of time with - who he’s been calling, visiting during the day, taking time off work for. That’s when he realizes who Stiles’ friend was, the one who wouldn’t go to the party. And Isaac can’t help but break into a grin.

“You’re the reason there’s Cheetos and Dr. Pepper,” he says to Stiles. Stiles is confused for a moment, but he seems to understand and immediately takes to stuttering out some kind of protest, but Isaac is already turning to Derek. “You’re dating my boyfriend’s best friend?”

Derek just stands in front of the door, bag in his arms, an exasperated look on his face. Scott says, “What?” at the same time Derek says, “Isaac.”

“I feel like ‘dating’ is a strong word,” Stiles says from the opposite side of the room. Derek rolls his eyes. Scott is saying something about being “totally out of the loop” and Stiles is trying to reason with him, but all Isaac can see is the bag that Derek’s now carrying across the room, back towards the spare bedroom.

“What is that?” He asks. Derek doesn’t even stop walking.

“What?”

“That? The bag.” He follows Derek into the spare bedroom where there are two backpacks that look awfully familiar, a laptop lying closed on the bed, and a small cardboard box leaking books and CDs and a few movies. Isaac feels something electric in his fingertips. Maybe he’s just shaking again. “Derek... is this....”

Derek sets the duffle bag on the bed and turns to Isaac with a blank expression. He points to the bag and says flatly, “Clothes. Everything else is scattered around. You’ll have to sort through it. We can replace anything left behind.”

Isaac’s having trouble breathing, actually, as he bends down beside the box and manages to pull from it a copy of Of Mice and Men from freshman year. He swallows. “How did you....?”

“I waited for your dad to get home,” Derek says and when Isaac looks up with blown-wide eyes, he continues, “Stiles went with me. I told him that you weren’t coming home and the only way I wasn’t calling the police was if he let me take your stuff and go.”

Isaac shakes his head, the words coming through, but he’s not really able to make sense of them. “And he agreed to that?”

Derek huffs. “No, not really. He told me he was going to make me pay for the window I broke and there was a kidnapping charge threat, but Stiles talked him down... and I may have punched him.”

“You _punched_ my dad?”

“Only for good measure. He’ll live.” Derek smiles at Isaac, small and closed lip, and there’s a breath that escapes Isaac’s chest he hadn’t even known he was holding. He can’t really figure it out, can’t really sort through the images in his head to see Derek punching his dad, or his father being intimidated by Stiles. And it’s hard for him to come to the realization that his life no longer has to consist of tip-toeing up the stairs and hearing empty bottle after empty bottle hit that coffee table before his father’s grim face.

“Derek,” Isaac says and he stands so that he’s a just few feet before him. “Are you... are you sure about this? What if my dad comes here or what if he does call the police on kidnapping or breaking and entering or _something_?”

“Hey, you said it yourself: eighteen in four months.” He claps a hand on Isaac’s shoulder for a moment before he moves towards the door of the spare - or now, Isaac’s - bedroom. He pauses, though, just to look back at Isaac and say, “But I’m sure. I should have gotten you out a long time ago.”

He smiles again and Isaac doesn’t know what to say, what to _do_. He just watches Derek return to the living room and listens to Scott and Stiles argue about some sort of Best Friend Code. He follows Derek a few minutes later and watches as he easily takes a seat beside Stiles on the couch, arm slung around his shoulders. The three of them - Derek, Scott, Stiles - are content there. Isaac hasn’t seen Derek so at ease in - well, _ever_.

For the first time today, his eyes seem to be seeing things as they are.

  
  
  
  
  


Scott spends the night at the apartment - Isaac’s first night in his new home. They sleep curled into each other, feet and arms tangled, breath intermingling. Scott kisses Isaac’s forehead until he falls asleep and whispers over and over simple stories about nice things like the beach and lacrosse practice and pancakes whenever Isaac says something about his dad, or worries if this is the right thing for Derek to do.

It’s around one in the morning when Isaac wakes up and has to sit at the edge of the bed, staring down the open window at the far side of the room. Scott is awake a few minutes later after sleepily casting an arm into the space once occupied by Isaac. He moves to sit at Isaac’s side, rubbing his shoulders and kissing his ear before he even knows what’s wrong. Isaac leans into him, dips into the warmth.

“He didn’t care,” Isaac says after a few quiet moments. “He didn’t care if I died or not. He just... left me there.” Scott rubs his thumb into Isaac’s bicep, pulls Isaac closer to him carefully. “Maybe that’s what he was trying to do. Finish me off once and for all.”

Scott shakes his head, looks at Isaac with wide eyes, and says, “We wouldn’t have let him.”

Isaac exhales and sinks into Scott’s arms a little more. When he curls his fingers into his palm, pinching at the skin, Scott unwinds his fist and tangles their fingers together. He raises Isaac’s hand to kiss his knuckles and this time when Isaac talks, his voice isn’t as quiet, not as shaky. “He’s not going to let it be the end, you know? He’s not just going to... let this go. Or maybe he will. Maybe he just doesn’t care. About me or anything that has to do with me.”

“You have plenty of people who do,” Scott tells him, squeezing his hand. “Me, Derek, Erica, Stiles - we’re all here for you.” Isaac meets Scott’s eyes with his own and he takes comfort in the way Scott pulls him back to be lying down again, burying them both under the sheets. Scott wraps himself around Isaac again and smiles only when Isaac exhales into the calming silence.

They lie in the quiet for a few moments, Scott tracing shapes and imaginary lines over Isaac’s back, until Isaac closes his eyes and says, “Scott?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

Scott looks up at Isaac, something like a smile hinting in his eyes. “For what?”

“For bringing your first aid kit to a diner.”

Scott kisses him beneath the open windows with a smile on his lips and a whispered, “Any time.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm so incredibly sorry about the wait! Pinky swear it won't happen again with the last few chapters! Thank you for the kind words and for being patient! I hope you all appreciate my chapter one/chapter eight parallels with this one.

Isaac spends his first week living at Derek’s making a list in his head of all the ways the apartment is different than his house. 

He and Derek share a bathroom now, but Isaac thinks the transition is easy for both of them since they both seem to be relatively good at keeping their things in their own allotted area of space. Isaac is given two entire drawers to keep his things in the bathroom and it might as well be Christmas and his birthday rolled into one - despite the fact that he barely fills the first drawer. Derek runs in the mornings sometimes and when he goes to the gym, it’s usually at night. When Isaac comes back to work - after two days of forced “resting time” - Derek starts taking him out to dinner after closing. Or, rather, they swing by different places to pick up food on the way home. He lets Isaac pick every time and doesn’t even complain when he asks for pizza two nights in a row or when Isaac eats half of the breadsticks. 

Scott comes over for dinner every night that week and he brings Stiles and even Danny one night. Isaac sits on Derek’s couch with Scott’s feet in his lap or on top of the counter watching everyone move through the tiny kitchen. They watch bad reality TV, a singing competition Stiles absolutely can’t stand, movies on the special HD channels - anything, really. And Derek pretends to hate it when Stiles flips through the channels too quickly, but Isaac can see the smile curling on his lips, can feel the affection in Derek's eye-roll. It's sort of nauseatingly wonderful. 

Derek lets Scott stay over for the first week - which is pretty much the only reason Isaac’s still somewhat sane. Every time his hands shake or he sees the clock change to the time his dad gets off work, Scott is there with fingers to intertwine with Isaac’s and lips to press into his ear. And at night, when Isaac sits up, watching the windows for those fading headlights of his father’s car, Scott is always, always there, rubbing at Isaac’s shoulders and trailing kisses at any skin he can find. And he does what he’s done this entire summer. He tells Isaac it’s okay. And he doesn’t stop until Isaac believes it, too. 

It’s a little awkward between Derek and Scott at first. There’s a lot of Scott apologizing uselessly for accidentally cutting Derek off when they bump into each in the other in the hall and some uncomfortable silences Isaac can practically feel radiating off of them when he finds them alone together. But after a few days, they actually seem to be getting along, talking about Stiles and the Jeep and Beacon Hills and anything, really. Isaac listens to them talk over dinner one night about Jeremy Renner or something about action movies and he actually has to physically restrain himself from laughing when the discussion turns to some weird mutual fanboy appreciation for the Mission Impossible movies. 

Stiles walks in halfway through that one, a two liter bottle of something green in his arms, rolling his eyes at the two of them before squeezing himself into the middle of the couch with a sheepish grin. 

Isaac doesn't even try to hold back his grin. 

Isaac’s new bed has dark green sheets and a brown duvet. Derek says they can buy new things if Isaac wants, but Isaac likes the room as it is. There are two lamps - one on the desk at the front of the room and another on the bedside table. There’s a closet roughly the same size as the one he had at his dad’s house and a fan that hangs from the ceiling, just above his bed. It's the perfect amount of space, Isaac thinks, and he feels comfortable in it. 

He’s pretty much completely unpacked by the time Thursday rolls around, books stacked on top of the desk and movies shoved back in the closet. He gets most of his clothes into the closet, leaving the heavy sweaters and winter things in the duffle bag, pushed to the back with the DVDs, but for the most part everything seems to have a place. He puts the picture of Camden and his mom at the amusement park from when he was six on the bedside table and when Scott traces his fingers over the frame, asks Isaac what his mom was like, Isaac is surprised at the way he can smile into the dark, can curl into Scott and whisper, “She would have loved you”, and mean every word of it. 

Erica comes over on one of the first days bringing with her a picture as well, which she tacks onto Isaac's wall as a "room warming gift". It's a picture of the two of them and Boyd - Erica in the middle with her arms slung over each of their shoulders - in front of Laura's. It's a couple of months old, the picture, but seeing Boyd with his arms crossed so sternly and his own eyes a little blown wide in surprise as Erica just grins as the pure image of cool, calm, and collected still makes Isaac shake his head. Erica ruffles his hair - "Every time, E" - and simply plops herself down on the bed with a "you're welcome". 

Derek insists on putting Isaac’s money in the bank, in an account under Derek’s name temporarily so that there isn't any sort of guardian signature required. Isaac goes with him, sits beside him during the paperwork, and bounces his knee all the while. He gets his very own debit card which makes him grin like an idiot, but he’s pretty sure - judging by the way Derek snickers to himself - that it’s an appropriate reaction. 

So, living with Derek. It’s not so bad. It’s actually not bad at all. It’s kind of awesome.

Despite the fact that Isaac still flinches at little noises from across the room or down the hall and he keeps checking over his shoulder whenever he's walking through town, just waiting to see his dad's eyes on him from across the street. 

They’re in the kitchen on Thursday night when Derek sets down a plate in the sink and Isaac goes to do the same, but he drops it and it hits the floor with this really ugly ringing sound. And Isaac just stands there, just stares at it. Because it didn’t break but the edge chipped off and that still sort of sucks and oh, god, he’s already screwed it up, he’s already broken something of Derek’s and he hasn’t even been here a full week. And for a split second he actually looks up expecting his dad to be there, but he only sees Derek, turning around from the living room to see what the noise was. And he’s moving, up from his seat, coming into the kitchen and Isaac just stares at him. He just watches Derek’s face as he quirks an eyebrow at the plate and then at Isaac. And maybe things slide into place when Derek sees how wide Isaac’s eyes are and he hears the rambled, “I’m really sorry, Derek, I can buy you a new one” because he just reaches down and picks the plate up, setting it and the chipped off portion on the counter in an easy, slow motion. 

He says, “Isaac. Don’t worry about it.” And that’s that.

Isaac lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and it hits him for the first time that there’s no reason to get worked up over the little things anymore. Because the only one who ever did was his father. And he’s not here anymore. 

It feels like some sort of weight has been lifted off of Isaac’s chest. 

And he can’t quite remember how he used to breathe with it there.

 

 

It’s Friday morning when Isaac comes to the startling realization that something about the way he’s getting ready for work is... off. Actually, everything’s sort of off. Because something is missing. He just can’t figure out what the hell it is. 

He wakes up before the alarm goes off with Scott’s arm slung over his chest and his own fingers locked in Scott’s hair. It’s way too hot for this kind of contact and Isaac is trying his best to bothered by it, but Scott looks so content when he sleeps, so unbothered by anything, just happy to lie in the silence beside Isaac. And it melts Isaac’s insides to the point where it could be a hundred and two degrees inside Derek’s apartment and Isaac still wouldn’t budge from his blanket cocoon if it meant waking Scott. 

God, he is so screwed. 

He lies as still as possible for a few minutes, watching the sun peek out from behind the rooftops outside of the window, a few lone cars crawling their way along the back street behind Derek’s apartment building. The wind blows so that the trees lean with it - an easy breeze, a sign for a good day on the water. Not that Isaac will be down at the beach. His bandages aren’t exactly waterproof and it’s not like he’s dying to show off those scratches on his chest - actually, those are healing a lot better than everything else. And they’re the only part of his body customers can’t raise eyebrows at, considering it’s the only damaged bit that’s covered. 

Isaac switches off the alarm clock before it can sound and presses a kiss into Scott’s hairline. He inhales the smell of familiar shampoo and salt water and isn’t even surprised when he finds himself smiling against Scott’s skin as he makes a half-grunted, muffled noise into Isaac’s shoulder. 

Isaac traces his fingers over Scott’s shoulder blade. “I have to get ready,” he whispers into Scott’s hair and there’s some sort of nodding, some sort of affirmative “oh, okay” mumble, and Scott does his best to sleepily untangle his limbs from Isaac’s, but Isaac catches the tired grin that covers his lips when he ends up being the one to extract himself from Scott’s arms. It’s been seven days. Seven. And Isaac doesn’t think he can give this up anytime soon. 

He doesn’t think his mornings will be half as good without the image of Scott sleeping in his bed, face smashed into the pillow with the sheets gathering around his waist, exposing his chest in a way that makes Isaac’s throat tighten. 

Isaac’s looked at him every morning this week - hair completely disheveled (even though Isaac is mainly to blame for that one considering he can’t keep himself from running his fingers through it whenever Scott kisses him or slips his hands under the material of Isaac's boxers and yeah, no - there's no way he's going to feel badly about messing up Scott's hair), arms lying in the space where Isaac once was, lips slightly parted - and every morning he’s fought down something heavy in his chest. Something strong, something with its own heartbeat. Something that feels a lot like three words Isaac hasn’t said in a very, very long time. 

He showers with the words on his lips and tries his best to rinse them off. But when he’s without Scott he’s left to think about him and the way he listens to Isaac’s stories and asks him questions like the answers really are important to him. Isaac has to think about Scott’s thumbs padding across his cheeks, leaking reassurances into his skin even without words. He’s left to remember Scott’s concealed worry, the unresolved rage painted on his face during their second night at the apartment, when he said it wasn’t right that Isaac’s father just got to keep living his life as if nothing had happened. And Isaac had talked him down, even though there was something settling in his stomach that felt a lot like fear. But it wasn’t quite fear that his dad might show up at some point, it was fear of the knowledge and the certainty that his dad won’t let this go, that he will find Isaac and tear down everything he’s gained from this summer. But he's not telling Scott that. No way. 

Isaac lets the water run over the exposed gash near his elbow, lets it cover the scrapes and cuts lining his arms in random constellations. He closes his eyes for a moment and he sees the living room, the broken glass, the curl in his father’s lips. When he opens them, he tries to change out the memory. Stiles had played lacrosse with him in the parking lot yesterday - had tossed a ball back and forth with him with Scott’s extra sticks. He had laughed at Isaac’s joke about Derek’s eyebrows. He had said, "What are you guys part of some breakfast-serving gang?" when Isaac had jogged down the stairs wearing his leather jacket, the one that closely resembles Derek's. 

Isaac thinks of Stiles and Scott and those words that stick in his throat that feel like too much, too soon, but he's more so hung up on the fact that it doesn't feel like too much, not really. Because the thought of trying to stretch this week into something more tangible, into the rest of his year, that's something he's all too often been thinking about these past few days. 

There's thoughts swirling in his head and water against his skin and it feels like the room is so full that Isaac is startled by the realization he's been rubbing at the back of his neck subconsciously. Bad habit, he tells himself as he runs his fingers over the cut at the side of his neck. It's mostly a scab now, healing, and the skin is sensitive under the water. It's when Isaac reaches his hand forwards, to turn off the water, that he realizes something is wrong. 

He puts his hand back to his neck, trying to feel for something, anything, but his fingers only hit his own skin. Isaac exhales sharply. Shit. 

He's moving out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist before he can even really let the thought settle, but he can't turn off his mind. He's running through places, searching through this past week - Laura's, the apartment, the sushi place on the corner, Scott's house, the parking lot, his house, Lydia's party. Lydia's party. Shit. 

"Isaac?" Scott asks from where he's sitting at the edge of the bed. Isaac's not answering, though, doesn't have time to answer because he has literally done the dumbest thing anyone could ever do. He has misplaced the one physical thing, the one thing that's actually his and his alone that he could hold in his hands when he forgot how to breathe or when the black eye didn't fade in time for picture day at school. He's looking through drawers, opening and shutting everything in sight, and thinking of Lydia's party, that day at the beach before Danny drove them over. 

"Isaac?" 

Isaac exhales. He turns around from where's standing at the desk to face Scott, who's blinking his eyes in an attempt to wake himself fully. Isaac is thinking one million things at once and he's trying not let one of those things be just how good Scott looks wearing nothing but Isaac's sheets and his underwear and how very unclothed Isaac is right now. 

"Are you looking for something?"

Isaac licks his lips. He can ask Scott, he thinks. Scott was there with him - has been with him all throughout this summer. Scott can help. Like that's anything out of the ordinary. "Do you remember what I was wearing the night of Lydia's Fourth of July party?"

Scott raises an eyebrow. "Is this a test?" Isaac mirrors his expression back at him, but Scott just hums in contemplation before saying, "Um… grey shirt, jeans… red boxer briefs. That one's for sure." Scott smiles and it's a fond expression that has Isaac gnawing at the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his mind in one place. "Actually, I think I still have your shirt from when our clothes got switched up."

"But I didn't have…." Isaac pauses, rubs at his jaw. No, he didn't have them because he knew he was going to the beach with Scott and Stiles and Danny. He took them off and he left them in the drawer of his bedside table. Because that was the "safe place". Well, what the hell is he supposed to do now? Isaac presses and hand to his forehead and closes his eyes, sucking in a breath. "I did something really stupid," he says. 

"What happened?"

When Isaac opens his eyes, he's greeted by brown eyes staring at him with worrisome question. He says, "I took Camden's dog tags off at my dad's house." The words come out in a puff of breath, a defeated sigh. 

"You took them off? When?"

"Before I came over to your house last Thursday. I just… I don't usually wear them in the ocean because they're really, you know, important, so I left them in my nightstand drawer so that my dad wouldn't find them if he walked into my room, but…."

"But you never came back," Scott finishes for him. He speaks slowly, like he's completing some kind of image in his mind. 

"Yeah." A drop of water falls from a loose curl on his Isaac's head, onto his lip. He presses his mouth into a straight line as Scott watches a piece of the floor, eyes scanning it for something Isaac is unsure of. The room is quiet and Isaac tries his best not to look at that picture to his side, to see Camden's face so many years ago as the only piece left of him. Four years. Four years Isaac kept the dog tags hidden and now they're gone all because he decided against putting them in his pocket. 

Yeah. Camden would be beaming with pride right now. 

Isaac moves from the desk, towards his closet and pulls clean underwear and jeans from the shelves in the silence. He can hear Derek outside of the room, moving pans in a cabinet in the kitchen. Isaac does his best to think about Derek and his obsession with scrambled eggs rather than the dog tags and how they felt in his hand when he was thirteen and he snuck them away from the funeral home. Or how he brought them to show Camden the first time he went to the cemetery. 

"Well, let's get them back," Scott says and the words are sudden, so confident and defiant, that Isaac is startled by the sound. He turns to see that Scott's eyes match his tone and he's sitting to face Isaac now. 

"What? No, Scott -"

"I could go in alone or I could go in with you - or we could send Derek back there. I'm pretty sure your father knows that if he goes anywhere near you we're going to put him where he should be now."

"You are not going anywhere near my dad," Isaac protests, but it's useless because Scott just persists. 

"Those dog tags are important to you, Isaac. And you're important to me. So, I'm getting them back. I don't want you to have to give up the last thing you have from your brother."

And there it is. The reason Isaac can't give up these early mornings with Scott, the reason those words have been crawling up, a little further from the base of his throat each day. Scott looks so sincere, so sure of what he's saying and what he's willing to do that Isaac's finding it hard not to be right there with him. Because Scott knows - Scott knows what those dog tags mean to him, what his brother meant to him, how he was the only person who gave Isaac a chance. Even on the worst days, when he'd slam a door in Isaac's face or they'd fight until Isaac didn't know what he'd done in the first place, Camden would still apologize. He'd still give Isaac a reminder that things between them weren't lost. 

He'd told Scott a story on Wednesday night, whispered about the time Camden signed him out of school early and they went to the movies. Because Camden liked zombie movies, too, and he would've loved Scott - begrudgingly probably because he didn't admit to liking anyone, really, but still. 

And when Isaac had said, "Sometimes it feels like if I don't remind myself I might forget him," Scott had promised to make sure Isaac never did. 

It looks like he had meant it. As if Isaac had any doubt. 

"I'm doing all of the talking," Isaac says finally, and then when Scott opens his mouth, "That's the only way I'm letting this happen. You can wait outside, in the driveway. I'll put my phone in my pocket or something, but you're not coming in."

Scott's quiet for a few moments, rubbing a hand over his hair as Isaac tosses a green Laura's tee shirt on top of the other clothes he's picked out for the day. He says, "Okay." But it's hesitant and Isaac can tell it's not going to be an easy day tomorrow. "But if you're in there for more than ten minutes, I'm coming in."

Isaac shakes his head, but Scott just maintains that I Mean Business look, on his knees in the middle of the bed. “It’s just get-in, get-out.”

“And then everything can go back to normal. Or, you know, the new normal.”

Isaac actually smiles at that, at “the new normal” - his new normal. Mornings with Scott and evenings with Derek and Stiles and the apartment’s easy soundtrack of low buzzes from the highway and the television. Isaac’s never wanted to stretch out the summer before now.

When he leans forward, he shakes his head slightly and says, “Yeah. The new normal.” And Scott’s eyes dance in front of him before Isaac kisses him, slowly. Because he can. 

He drops the towel in a matter of mere minutes. 

 

 

Isaac is about fifteen minutes late getting out the door and consequently ends up having to meet Derek in the parking lot, sliding into the camaro with his hair sticking up in the front and his brand new to-go coffee cup (“coffee from the apartment isn’t an ‘outside beverage’, Erica”) in tow. Derek just arches an eyebrow before pulling out and turning up the radio. 

They drive mostly in silence since the trip is short and it’s early and it’s really something they’re both content with. Isaac drinks his coffee and watches as the roads come to life, watches the sun crawl up. He wonders, distantly, why it is that waking up early during the summer is so much easier than waking up early during the school year. He figures it might have something to do with the diner, but there’s no way he’s admitting that out loud. No way. 

When they pull up in front of Laura’s, Isaac takes the final drag from the to-go cup. He’s holding it nearly all the way upside down, trying to get the last drop, when Derek says, in the honest-to-god most exasperated tone, “Do we need to be having some sort of safe sex talk?”

Isaac nearly chokes on his last sip of coffee. 

He looks at Derek with eyes that are probably a little too wide, but clearly it’s not even something Derek wants to be asking judging by the “let’s get this box checked off on the conversational topics list” look on his face.

“What? No, Derek.” Derek just fixes him with a stare that implies Isaac’s answer isn’t convincing enough, so Isaac runs a hand through his hair - which he’s feeling very aware of right now - and says, “I’ve got it covered, okay? I promise.” 

“Are you sure? Because it’s not just -”

“No, yeah, Derek, I’m sure,” Isaac says as dismissively as possible. Derek doesn’t seem phased by it all. He just says something about “just checking” and another mumble with Scott’s name, but he’s already getting out of the car, so Isaac follows and does his best to keep his face from heating up as they make their way inside the diner. 

It’s not like he knows how to school his expression into something that reads “my boss/unofficial new guardian totally didn’t just ask me if I’m having safe sex with my boyfriend who’s sort of rooming at his apartment”. 

Erica calls out a “hey, good looking” from the bar before waving Isaac’s name tag in his direction the seconds they step foot through the door, though, so he doesn’t have to focus on it for too long. And he’s definitely not thinking about what Derek may or may not be able to hear through his bedroom door. 

“Why do you have my name tag?”

“Because Boyd took it by mistake,” Erica explains before handing it over. She also gives him the towel that she’s been using to wipe down the bar and Isaac takes it to mean that it’s where he’ll be spending at least the morning shift. “You’re making Derek late already?”

“We’re not late,” Derek corrects from where he’s checking ketchup bottles. 

“We’re less than five minutes from opening. That’s late in Derek terms.”

Isaac fails at attempting to bite down his grin. Even Boyd snickers from the kitchen. 

The rest of the morning is slow in an easy way. Isaac talks to a young couple from Nevada about the weather and hurricanes and their hometown and he listens to Mr. Cooper, a regular at the breakfast bar, drawl on about baseball and his grandson’s first steps last week. Isaac even gets to see a picture, which is actually the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, but he simply tells Mr. Cooper that he’s got good genes and that seems to suffice. The lunch crowd is a little heavier, a little more readily prepared for what they want and the pace has Lydia slightly on edge, but Isaac does his best to keep her tables straight for her when he’s not washing trays and dishes for Boyd after Derek takes over the bar around eleven. 

He eats lunch with Scott in front of the diner on one of the benches and it’s short, but still great because Scott is himself and he gets food in his hair miraculously and smiles like an absolute dork when Isaac brushes it off. He asks if Isaac’s going to tell Derek where they’re headed tomorrow and, wow, Isaac hadn’t even thought about it. He hadn’t even taken time to think about what Derek would say if Isaac were to tell him that after only a week at the apartment, he was going to plow back into his father’s house for something so small. Except... the dog tags weren’t small. Maybe in size, but in everything in else....

Isaac says, “Yeah, maybe later, during closing.” Because he tells himself Derek might understand, might see Isaac’s need to hold onto the dog tags in the same way Derek keeps that picture of his family at the bedside table. 

The evening is typical for Friday with a bustling crowd with a high demand for milkshakes and chocolate chip pancakes. Boyd looks miserable the entire night shift, staring at the plates in some sort of longing. Derek finally has to send him on a snack break because everyone’s sick of seeing his puppy dog eyes from the order-up counter. 

When it comes time to closing, Isaac takes to loading up the dishwashers with help from Erica, the two of them listening to one of Derek’s supremely outdated stereos playing at a hazy buzz in the background. 

“So does Derek let you drive the Camaro now that you’re living over there?”

“I wish. I don’t think me staying at the apartment earns that privilege,” Isaac huffs, a grin on his face. 

“Does he even let anyone else near the driver’s side of the car?” She asks with a smirk, which only widens when she adds, “Maybe you have to be sleeping with Derek to get Camaro access. You should ask if Stiles is allowed to drive it.”

Isaac shakes his head to himself as Boyd swings through the kitchen door, wiping his hands on a dish towel which he leaves beside the sink. He tells Erica that Derek says they’re all good to go and she pushes one of the dishwashers shut before turning to Isaac to ask if he needs any help with the last few plates. He tells her he’s got it, to go makeout with her boyfriend somewhere else so he at least doesn’t have to watch. They give him identical grins. 

“See you Sunday, Lahey,” she says in parting and then disappears from the doorframe, Boyd at her side with an arm around her waist. 

Isaac loads up the last few dishes in a mere couple of minutes and then he too is swinging out the kitchen door, waving a goodbye to Lydia who nods to him from the front of Laura’s before tapping Derek on the shoulder and handing him the new roll of receipt paper. She’s tells Isaac to have a good day off and then proceeds out to the parking area, leaving Derek and Isaac in the quiet of the diner post-meal time. 

They work for a few minutes in the silence, Isaac having switched off the stereo on his way out of the kitchen, and then Derek says, “There’s stuff to make pasta back at the apartment if that sounds good.”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Isaac answers, setting the box of dish towels behind the bar. He wipes his hands on his jeans and when he turns back, Derek is already undoing his apron and pulling the car keys from his pocket. “Is Stiles coming over tonight?”

“He’s working. He got a temporary part-time job filling in for Danny at that music store.”

“Why’s he filling in for Danny?”

“Because he had to go back to Beacon Hills for a week.”

“Why?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just gives Isaac an exhausted look that says he has no idea, nor does he care. Isaac doesn’t make much of it, though, and unties his apron before following Derek out the front door, watching him lock up as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He chews at the inside of his cheek, playing around with different ways to say, “Hey, Der, I know things have been really great this past week so I think I’ll repay you for that by marching myself back into the very house you carried my unconscious, bloodied body from.” 

Yeah. He should just say that. That one’s a winner for sure. 

Derek begins walking to the car and Isaac trails just a few inches behind him, unable to walk beside him as a few groups pass them by on the sidewalk. It’s ten thirty, the diner having stayed open late because of the Friday hours - and Isaac is amazed at how alive the town is, buzzing with the summer crowd at its peak. July and early August never fail, Isaac thinks. He’ll miss the tourists when they’re gone, come September, but for now he’s content to watch families cut across quiet streets and couples slip into ice cream shops lining the boardwalk. He knows how Derek feels about the tourists, knows how Derek feels about people in general, and it makes Isaac wonder how he ended up as one of the select few, one of the chosen members allowed underneath Derek Hale’s exterior. 

“Hey Derek?” Isaac calls once they’re making their way through the small parking area behind the strip of shops and restaurants. Derek stops slowly and turns to face Isaac with an eyebrow already arched. He looks a little worn out from the day, a little impatient and Isaac has to wait for a group of girls to pass them by before he can speak, but he’s willing to bet Derek would rather know than find out afterwards. “I think I’m going to stop by my dad’s house tomorrow.”

Derek blinks and Isaac swears for a minute he sees his shoulder flinch, but then he’s squaring himself to be facing Isaac completely, just a few feet ahead of him, and he’s narrowing his eyes. He says, voice so low it makes Isaac’s hair stand on the back of his neck, “What?”

“I forgot something the morning of the party. Scott said that he would go with me. It’ll be really quick - ten minutes max - and then I’ll be set.”

Derek looks like he’s two seconds away from pinching the bridge of his nose, torn between disbelief and strangled anger. “Scott said that he would go with you? What are you going to get, Isaac? Because whatever it is, we can buy you a new one. Nothing’s worth a repeat of last Friday.”

Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s mentioned Camden in front of Derek a grand total of two times and the first was at his interview for the job at Laura’s. And even then it was just Isaac confirming that he was in fact Camden’s brother when Derek asked. “He was on the track team junior and senior year,” Derek had said. It wasn’t a question, but more so a statement that Isaac had taken to mean that Derek was on the track team, too. It’s not much to go by, though, and Isaac doesn’t know how to say Camden’s name and dog tags and the last thing I have of him without sounding like he’s crying for sympathy. Which he totally isn’t. He just wants to make Derek understand, to make him see why Isaac needs to do this. 

“Isaac,” Derek says and he realizes it’s been moments since Derek last spoke. “What is it you’re going back for?”

Isaac looks at Derek with a heavy sigh, a drawn out release of breath. “My brother’s dog tags.” 

Derek’s entire position crumbles - not drastically, but Isaac knows Derek, knows the way his shoulders slump and his chest deflates means that he’s surprised by Isaac’s words. His face softens and the anger in his eyes vanishes and is replaced by something that looks a lot like understanding. He says nothing and so Isaac takes the chance to explain why it is he needs to go. 

“I’m not even supposed to have them. My dad thinks they were buried with Camden four years ago, but I managed to sneak them out at the wake and now....” He takes another breath, shaking his head at himself. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done - everything you’re doing for me, Derek, it’s just that if I don’t go back and get them I know my dad will eventually find them and get rid of them or have them for himself and I know that they’re just dog tags, but it feels like -”

“It feels like the last piece of him.”

Isaac looks up to see Derek’s eyes on him. He nods, slowly, a new quiet settling between them. Isaac realizes for the first time how much Derek looks like his sister, how when he’s giving Isaac this look of half desperation how much his eyes look like the pictures hanging in the diner or the few scattered in hidden corners of the apartment. He wonders how much he resembles Camden. People used to say they had the same curl in the front of their hair. It’s not like he can ask anyone now. 

“Okay.”

Isaac inhales. “Okay?”

“Okay, we’ll get them back. I’m going with you and Scott tomorrow and I’m going inside with you.”

“Derek-”

“It’s - what do you always say - non-negotiable.” Derek’s stare is heavy and serious, but there’s a quirk to his lips that lets Isaac’s chest feel a little lighter despite the whirlpool sensation in the bottom of his stomach. 

He says, “Okay.” 

And Derek echoes it back.

 

 

“Do you think your dad’s afraid of him, of Derek?” Scott asks, tracing shapes into Isaac’s shoulder. The windows are open, blowing summer air into the room. They’ve been like this for hours now, sitting on Isaac’s bed in the dark, breaking the silence with whispered words about tomorrow. 

“Maybe,” Isaac answers. He runs a hand through his hair, shrugging his shoulders as he does so. “I don’t know how he and Stiles talked him down before, but whatever it was obviously convinced him they were serious.”

“Maybe Derek documented everything that happened: all of the bruises and black eyes and stuff. Maybe he has pictures.”

Isaac turns, meeting Scott’s eyes with his own. “Do you think that’s why?”

Scott shrugs. “It could be,” he says softly. “You said that you used to stay in the back of the diner sometimes when things got bad, right?” When Isaac nods, Scott continues. “Maybe he was doing it the whole time without your knowledge.”

“But why would he do that and just keep everything to himself?”

Scott quirks his lips to the side and he sighs softly to himself as if to say he’s unsure. Isaac worries his own bottom lip between his teeth, thinking of the ways in which Scott could be right. Scott unwinds his hands a few moments later from where Isaac’s curling them tightly and he kisses Isaac’s collarbone and then his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. 

“It’ll all be okay tomorrow,” Scott murmurs. “That I know for sure.”

 

 

Before Isaac even opens his eyes he realizes that Scott is no longer in the bed with him, judging by the way his arm falls easily into the vacant space beside him. He mutters Scott's name, supposed to be a question but it comes out as more of a displeased grunt. There is no response, the room quiet outside of Isaac’s sleepily mumble. When he sits up it takes a few moments for the lights to come into focus, but once he’s adjusted Isaac swings his feet out over the bed and onto the floor, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

He can hear voices from the kitchen, drifting down the hall - Scott and Derek speaking quietly. Isaac glances at the clock reading six AM and blinks at it in confusion. It's Saturday. It has to be Saturday, right? Why is everyone awake on Saturday? Even Derek usually shows up a little late to Laura's on Saturday and Scott has no reason to be up on Isaac's day off. 

And then all at once he remembers what today is. And for a split second Isaac swears he can smell that cheap, grocery store brand coffee his dad always brews in the mornings, swears he can hear his dad's footsteps down the hall. And he can't breathe for a moment, can't even concentrate enough of his energy on taking a breath because maybe this isn't a good idea, maybe he should just let Camden go. He isn't even supposed to have those dog tags in the first place, after all. Maybe it's not worth it because if Scott gets hurt, if Derek gets hurt - how is Isaac supposed to live with himself then?

Ten minutes. Get in. Get out. 

No, yeah, he can do it. He can look his dad in the eye with the knowledge that he knows better than to try something. He can look his father in the eye and think to himself that he's better off now, that he has a life worth living now. Isaac can look him in the eye and state what he's returned for. And he can do it all without an ounce of fear. 

That lack of fear is totally not the reason Isaac pushes himself up from the bed and wanders down the hall in seek of Scott's waist to wrap his arms around. Nope. Totally not. 

Derek breaks off mid sentence once Isaac appears in the kitchen. Isaac hears, "It's not like I didn't -" but that's all he gets before he's greeted by two pairs of wide eyes, both racking him over. The silence feels tense in the kitchen, filling the room with something that strains Isaac's throat. 

He forces a smile against himself, closed lipped, like greeting someone at a funeral. "Good morning," he says, with an edge of questioning. 

"Good morning," Scott echoes and there's an exasperation there, a fondness like he can read Isaac's mind. 

"You guys are up early," Isaac says when Derek makes no response. He watches the way Derek's weight shifts from side to side, contemplative, like he can't decide what to say. It's even more unsettling when he looks to Scott. They exchange a look for just a split second, but Isaac's nails are already pinching into his palms. He can feel the words coming before they roll out from Scott's lips. 

"We thought we'd get an early start. You said your dad usually works afternoons on Saturdays, right?"

Isaac swallows. He feels Derek's eyes on him and Scott's as well and there's a heaviness to both of their stares that sits on his chest. So, they're getting this over with, then. A Saturday morning with Mr. Lahey. Well, Isaac's well acquainted with those. Hell, it was an Extra Special morning with his dad that caused him to bump into Scott in the first place. He nearly cringes at the thought. 

"It's better to go when there's still light out. Otherwise we'll have to wait until he gets off work," Derek says. Reasonable. Rational. 

Isaac nods, slowly. "Yeah… you're probably right."

"Unless you want to wait," Scott cuts in. "Or if you don't want to go at all. Derek and I can definitely go with you if that's what you want."

"You're not going without me, Scott. I'm not sending you in there."

"It might be better if -" Derek offers, but Isaac is quick to cut him off.

"If either one of you suggest that it would be better if I didn't go to get my own things from my own house one more time, I swear I'm not letting either of you come."

Derek and Scott both deflate noticeably before his eyes, giving each that look again like they know exactly what their next move is, like they're some sort of team. It's starting to drive Isaac a little crazy if he's being honest. 

"Alright," Scott says finally. "Let's get ready, then."

 

 

Isaac dresses in silence, Scott off to his side, pulling his tee shirt over his head. Isaac takes care in everything he does - in rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and in looping his belt through the designated holes in his jeans. He takes extra time tying his shoes and brushing his teeth, takes as long as possible pulling his hair in odd directions until it looks the way he wants it to - or close enough. 

There's a moment when everything is done in which he leans the palms of his hands against the edge of his sink and just exhales - just lets the breath roll from his body - and lets his eyes sting behind closed lids. And he just lets himself think about all of the things his father could say. And he tells himself he doesn't care, shouldn't care, won't care over and over, because if he repeats it enough, he may just believe it. 

He feels Scott's arms wrap around him from behind and pull him against his chest, rubbing circles with his thumb over the material of Isaac's shirt. He leans his forehead against Isaac's shoulder blade and whispers into the back of his neck, "You can do this."

Isaac nods, eyes still closed. Inhale. Exhale. "I know," he says quietly, even though he doesn't. Not really. Not with the infinite list of possible outcomes staring him down. 

Scott's lips press into his neck and then his shoulder. He says it again, one more time, because if he says it enough Isaac may just believe it. 

"You can do this."

 

 

Isaac makes the "ten minutes" promise to Scott six times before he and Derek are climbing from the Camaro, side by side in an agonizingly short walk to the front door. There should be more time, Isaac thinks, so that he can sort out his thoughts, so that he can have a shot at saying what he wants to. But it's been more than a week since Isaac last saw his father and there's been both too much time and not enough and Isaac hates the way his stomach is churning. He hates the way he nearly cringes at the muffled sound of the doorbell when Derek rings it.

"Just let me talk," Derek mutters as he does so. "You do what you have to."

It's a good plan, really, especially since Isaac feels as if he might throw up at the sight of the front hall through the windows at the side of the door. The rug is gone. Isaac thinks it must have been too bloodied to save. 

When the door opens, Isaac tries to breath, but he feels like he's being tossed beneath a wave. His father is there, staring at Derek and then looking to him with this look in his eyes like he's never been so disgusted, like he's never been so appalled. Isaac thinks of the time he was eight and his dad came to his third grade play and told Isaac he was the best "Fish Number Three" he'd ever seen in his life. 

You can do it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His father asks and Isaac can't tell if the question is directed at him or Derek. "We had an agreement. I should be calling the police."

"Isaac forgot something," Derek says and Isaac can hear his jaw clench, can feel the way his eyes narrow. 

His father crosses his arms. It's all a game, just another round in a silly act Isaac's been failing at for years. "And what would that be?"

"Camden's dog tags," Isaac answers. The words come out in a rushed breath and he can see Derek eyeing him, off to his side, but he's more focused on the way his dad's eyes widen and then narrow and his mouth curls into something ugly in a matter of seconds. 

"I'm sorry," his father says, causing his lips to curl even further. "I could have sworn I just heard you say you were here for your brother's dog tags. The ones that were buried four years ago."

"Just let us go up to Isaac's room and we'll be on our way," Derek steps in. But Isaac knows his father and when he begins to shake his head, Isaac knows they've only just begun the battle. 

"You think you can just come in here after what you did? After you broke into my house and kidnapped my son - and then threatened and assaulted me afterwards? You think you can come back here to retrieve something that isn't even rightfully yours in the first place?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I think," Derek says and he takes a step closer to the door, a step closer to Isaac's father. "And I think you're going to let us because if you don't, I'll take those pictures I showed you last week down to my friends at the police department and we'll hear what they have to say when they find out about you beating a seventeen-year-old kid senseless since he was twelve. Assholes get punched in the face every day. So, if you think anyone's really going to care about your little sob story over a black eye, you better guess again."

Isaac watches his father's face flicker to something like concealed rage. He shakes his head, stepping closer to Derek just as Derek had done to him, staring him down. Isaac wants to ask questions - questions about "the pictures" and about Scott's theory that Derek had been documenting everything. He wants to ask why in the hell his dad used the term "kidnapping" and he wants to ask why his dad would care about the dog tags, why he would consider them his property in any way. But he can't because his father is opening his mouth again, is already formulating a reply to Derek. 

"So this is how it's going to be from now on? You're going to speak in place of my son? Because he's too much of a pussy to -"

And that's when Isaac lets loose. "Just let us get the dog tags!" His voice is raised, barely short of a yell and it makes both Derek and his father startle. "Why the hell would you want them anyways? You haven't asked about them in four years and I know you know they went missing because I was with you when the funeral director told you. So, you can quit acting like give a fuck, Dad, because I see right through you."

For a moment, no one speaks. Derek is looking back at Isaac, in between him and his father, while his dad merely balls his hands into fists at his side. "You know," he says, and his voice is quiet - worn down. "Everything I did for you and this is how you repay me?"

Isaac fights the bile rising in his throat. "Would you rather I pay you back by doing to you what you did to me?"

The words hang in the air for a few moments before Isaac's eyes start to un-focus everything again. His dad lunges forwards and Isaac tries to take a step back, but he's too late and there's a fist that collides with the side of his face with a blow that knocks him to the ground. And he doesn't see how it happens, but Derek's got his dad pressed against the door frame like he's going to handcuff him the next time he's able to look up. He hears the door of the Camaro slam shut, but the sound doesn't really register until Scott is at his side, kneeling over him and asking a thousand questions at once. Isaac hears, "Are you okay?" a few times repeated, but he feels a little hazy, like he's reliving last week over again.

Derek's saying something to Scott, something about calling someone, but Isaac is focusing all of his energy on training his sight back to normal. 

In between the all too familiar ringing in his ears and Derek's strained commands, Isaac lets himself revel in his own words. He lets himself take pride in the voice he spoke with to his father.

Lying on the concrete walkway, Isaac lets himself breathe.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient! This chapter is really, really special to me and I am incredibly grateful that you've taken the time to offer support/give feedback/or just read this ridiculous thing. You all mean the world to me and I am so happy I've gotten to share this with you. (There are poems and songs referenced in this chapter which you can find in the end notes!)

Isaac doesn't know a lot of things. 

He doesn't know who invented the television or whether it was his mom or his dad who gave him his name. He doesn't know why his middle school English teacher loved Of Mice and Men or why Camden hated it so much. He doesn't know why the moon is connected to the tides - something with gravity, something about a pull and push in the earth. He doesn't know how many teaspoons are in a tablespoon and he doesn't know why Boyd's cake always tastes better than the store brand. He doesn't know why his brother joined the army. He doesn't know why his mom liked E. E. Cummings more than any other poet. And he doesn't know why Scott's hands are always warm, even when he says he's freezing - lips trembling in the ocean. 

He doesn't know why his dad locked him in the freezer when he was twelve. 

He doesn't know why he agreed to keep that a secret. 

What he doesn't know could fill a few novels, maybe even a series, he thinks and that which he does know is far outweighed by comparison.

What he knows is that the look in his father's eyes when Derek tells Scott to call the police is one of fear, one of desperation. What he knows is that in the state of California, failure to report child abuse is a misdemeanor offense. What he knows is that he'd go insane in Foster Care and maybe Derek would, too, so when he tells Scott not to call, he means it. 

He hears his voice crack, but he doesn't stop talking. He can't stop talking, really, can't shut himself up. 

"They won't let me stay with you, Derek, if they know you knew! You'll have a record and I'll be in Foster Care or a group home for the next four months or until I finish school. Don't call. Scott. Scott! Don't. Call."

What he knows is that Scott will never believe Isaac when he says he's okay. He knows what Scott looks like when he's about to cry and he knows what his voice sounds like when he's standing on the edge. Isaac also knows how to make Scott laugh, how to poke fun at his jaw in a way that doesn't make him self conscious. He knows Scott's favorite songs. And he knows better than to lie to him. 

And he knows when Scott asks, "What do you want me to do then?" that he already knows what Isaac's next move is. 

Pushing himself up from the ground proves to be a difficult task - his head is still reeling and wow, he didn't know it was possible for there to be so many veins popping out of Derek's forehead at once. But he's running before he knows it, pushing through that ringing sensation in his ears as he takes the stairs two at a time. Derek still has his father pushed against the door, the side of his face slammed against the wood. 

Isaac doesn't know what his dad's favorite songs are. He doesn't know how to make his dad laugh or smile or what he could say to cheer him up. He doesn't know what his dad's favorite food is or if he had a favorite band growing up. 

What he does know is that there's a drawer beside his former bed that holds Camden's dog tags and that Isaac's not leaving until he has them in his hand. 

They feel heavier, Isaac thinks, even though he tells himself he's being stupid. When he slips them over his head, something settles in his chest. Relief is a funny feeling. It warms you from the inside out. Like coffee on a cold morning or pancakes fresh from the stovetop at Laura's.

He surveys the room, glances it over once. The colors are a little too sharp, but his eyes are coming into better focus now. He doesn't think about how severe that concussion from last week really might have been, but instead about the one he had when he was fourteen that felt like it lasted a month. 

Here's what Isaac doesn't know: he doesn't know whether or not Camden ever told a girl he loved her. He doesn't know if he missed Isaac when he was away or if he told stories about him to the other guys in his unit. He doesn't know whether or not his mom had other serious boyfriends before his dad. He doesn't know if she would have liked the diner, or Erica, or how the job took up so much of Isaac's time. He doesn't know what either one of their favorite things would be about Scott or what they would say to him upon introduction. 

But here's what he does know: he knows that when he leaves his bedroom, when he darts out the front door - past Derek and the strangled figure that is his father - he's not leaving them behind. He doesn't need their photos in the hall or their old clothes in the closets to tell him they were real, that they loved him. He carries them with him always. Around his neck, in his smile, in his chest. 

He carries their hearts inside his own, like that poem on his mom's headstone. 

"Isaac!" Scott calls once he's cutting across the front yard. He's leaning out the driver's side of the Camaro, the engine running. "Are you sure about this?" His eyes are wide and no, Scott's not sure, that Isaac can tell. 

"I'm sure," He says and he's surprised that it's true. He has a hand on the door for the backseat of the Camaro when he turns around to face the house. Derek is already staring him down - jaw set, one hand on the back of his father's head to hold him place and the other securing his wrists. Isaac wonders if Derek ever thought about becoming a cop, but he thinks now would be the wrong time to ask. 

He nods to Derek because he can't find the words to say, because he can't force himself to say what he wants to. 

_I'm ready to go. I'm ready to leave this behind, to forget about being locked in the freezer and bleeding out over the carpet in the front hall. To forget about the time when I was fourteen and I had a yellow cast on my leg that only made that sickening laugh grow louder in my ear. I'm ready to move on from trash bags full of whiskey bottles and pretending a sweatshirt is a decent piece of defense wear._

He doesn't say any of it, just climbs into the backseat and tries not to watch as Derek shoves his father into the front hall. His dad hits the floor hard, that Isaac can tell even from the distance, and Derek yells something at him before he slams the front door shut and half-jogs his way to the passenger side of his own car. 

He says, shortly, "Drive."

Scott does. And as they pull out of the driveway, Isaac catches sight of the front door opening. There's a pretty sizable cut on the left side of his father's face. 

Isaac feels like his fingertips are on fire. 

 

 

"That was a stupid move," Derek says when they hit a red light. Scott's turned around and Isaac can see his eyes racking the already-forming bruise on his the side of his face. 

Isaac shakes his head to himself. "It's better this way."

"For who?"

"For everyone," he answers and maybe it comes out a little too harsh because Scott's eyebrows push inwards, the corners of his mouth turning downwards with something that looks like worry. Derek still doesn't turn in the slightest. "If you had called the police, you'd risk facing jail time, Derek. Time in jail all because of me."

"They wouldn't have put me in jail."

"They sure as hell wouldn't have let me live with you anymore."

The car falls silent as the light changes to green. Isaac feels a little dizzy as they roll forwards again. Distantly, he thinks of rollercoaster rides and games at amusement parks. He feels like he might topple over, but his eyes locked on the back of Derek's head keep him steadied, like an imaginary wire holding him up. 

They move for a few minutes in the quiet, the drive seeming so much longer than it had on the way over. Isaac feels like the dog tags around his neck are clinging to his skin, like he's a security blanket to their etched in metal instead of it being the other way around. 

"It wouldn't be because of you," Derek says after a while.

"What?"

Derek sighs, slow and soft. "If I had been charged, it wouldn't have been your fault."

"I don't care who's fault it is, I'm still not risking getting shipped off to a group home or giving you a criminal record, Derek," Isaac tells him. 

The care falls back into silence, but Derek shakes his head as he stares out the window. Isaac feels anger bubbling low inside of himself, but he can't direct it at anyone, really. He wants to be mad at his father, wants to hate him so much for every bruise, every scratch, every word he's ever thrown in Isaac's direction. It's easier for Isaac to pretend that's how he feels anyway, it lets him sleep better at night. 

When they pull up in front of the apartment, Derek says, "He still shouldn't be out there. It's not right." And with that, he pulls himself from the passenger seat, taking his keys from Scott as he does so. He closes the door softly and Isaac exhales just to see how it makes his chest feel. 

Scott's out of the car a few moments later and he pulls open Iaac's door with this soft expression on his face, like all he wants to do is tell Isaac that he's proud of him, that he's on Isaac's side no matter what - even though Isaac knows Scott feels the same way Derek does. Scott quirks up the corner of his lips in a questioning gesture as he extends his hand and Isaac takes it, tentatively. When Scott pulls him out from the backseat, Isaac mumbles, "I know you're on his side."

Scott simply shrugs his shoulders and tucks a piece of Isaac's hair into place. "I'm on whatever side makes you happy," he says. And he smiles the subtlest smile Isaac's ever seen. 

Isaac shakes his head, bumps the toe of Scott's shoe with his own. "But um… what if I don't know what makes me happy?"

There's a pause, a moment of silence where Isaac watches the ground instead of Scott's face. And then Scott leans up to press his forehead on Isaac's. He says, "Then we'll just have to wait and see, right?"

Isaac's breath sounds a little too ragged when he exhales, but Scott's lips are like a lifeline and Isaac kisses him until he can stand straight again. 

 

 

They spend that Saturday in the apartment, Scott and Isaac, mostly in a contented silence that allows Isaac to think for a while. 

They watch old movies on Derek's couch and Scott combs his fingers through Isaac's hair when he rests his head in Scott's lap. Isaac falls asleep at one point, but Scott is still there when he wakes up and he smiles down at Isaac when he realizes he's awake, says, "You missed a pretty awesome infomercial, babe."

Isaac's stomach hurts when he smiles. 

Scott showers with him which is definitely the high point of the day and Isaac revels in the laughter that spills from both of their mouths, the way Scott's smile feels against his shoulder, the way Scott's hands feel on his hips. Isaac doesn't think of bloodied carpets or Derek's ghost of a frown or the way his father looked pressed against the door. For a while all he thinks about is water dripping from Scott's hair and his crooked smile. 

For a little while, Isaac can be himself and stretch himself thin under the warmth of Scott's stare. 

They walk on the beach when the sun starts going down, even though the walk over takes longer than the time they spend on the sand. Scott twists his fingers in Isaac's, kicks his feet through the water and smiles like he's happy just to be there. Isaac believes that he is and it makes him hold onto Scott that much tighter. 

They settle beneath one of the piers in the final stages of the sunset and Scott sits between Isaac's legs, with his back against Isaac's chest, head on his shoulder. Isaac wraps his arms around Scott's chest and it's easy to breath like this, in the shadows of the ever expansive beach, isolated in the warmth of Scott. The sky changes quickly, from something bold to a light pink that makes Isaac think of Valentine's Day cards. Scott compares a shade of orange to the hair color of a girl from his Biology class freshman year. Isaac says the yellow looks like the lemonade Boyd made fresh a couple weeks back. 

"Everything always looks better out here, you know," Scott says, padding his thumb across the back of Isaac's hands, locked together at the front of Scott's chest. "On the water, I mean. Like things just seem… brighter."

"Maybe it's just your inner-tourist," Isaac whispers, a grin pressed into Scott's temple. 

Scott huffs a laugh. "Yeah, maybe. Or it might have something to do with this cute curly haired guy who lives around here."

Isaac's lips only spread further into a smile, hidden in Scott's hair. "Doesn't really sound like your type," he mumbles. 

"You just don't know him like I do," Scott says with a sigh. 

Isaac lets those three words ring clearly through his head for first time and when he buries a kiss in Scott's hair, he hopes that Scott can feel them, even if he can't hear them.

 

 

They eat dinner at Laura's at the booth in the corner of the restaurant, closest to the bathrooms. Stiles meets them there and brings Danny, back from Beacon Hills with his friend (the infamous) Jackson in tow. They pull up a chair to the end of the booth so the five of them can fit, but Jackson, as it turns out, spends most of his time at the bar, trying to get a word in with Lydia. They all take turns mocking him until Lydia shoots them daggers with a single glare and woah, hey, did she actually just talk to him? Did she actually just make Jackson believe he stands a chance?

Well, there's a first for everything, right?

Scott sits next to Isaac and they share a smoothie with their dinner, which is actually more of an ill timed breakfast of blueberry pancakes and home-fries. Isaac kisses smoothie from Scott's lips which makes Stiles gag at them and Danny roll his eyes, but Isaac decides he gets punishment enough from Erica ruffling her hair. 

They're just about finishing up with their food when Isaac excuses himself from the table and makes his way to the kitchen. Boyd shoots him possibly the warmest almost-grin Isaac's ever seen on his face as a greeting and Erica pulls him into a little half-hug. 

"Everything went okay?" She asks upon pulling away. "I mean, Derek said things were fine, but oh - oh my god, is that a bruise? Isaac!"

Isaac flinches when Erica prods at his skin, but he manages to escape her hands and explain with a very short, "No, everything's fine. We just - I sort of pissed my dad off. It's fine now, though. Everything's okay."

"Did you call the cops?"

"No, but… it's fine, it's better this way. Just… trust me." Isaac thinks Erica must pick up on the way Isaac has to force out the words with every ounce of strength he has because she just nods, slowly, and squeezes his shoulder.

"So, you're like officially living at Derek's now?" Boyd asks.

Isaac nods, gestures uselessly with his hands. "Yeah, I guess so."

"What about Scott?" Erica cuts in.

Isaac blinks. "…What about Scott?"

"Isn't he living at Derek's now, too?"

Boyd raises an eyebrow at that like he's totally out of the loop about everything which, no, because no one is out of the loop when they're with Erica. "He just stays over sometimes."

Erica laughs at that, rolling her eyes as she does so. "Sometimes as in every night?"

"I've only been there a week, Erica," he protests. She simply hums, wearing a matching expression to Boyd's smug look. Isaac doesn't understand why the three of them can never be on the same page about anything - why it always seems like two of them are staring down the other. "Whatever, I need to talk to Derek," he says finally, growing restless under those stares. 

"He's cleaning the bathrooms," Boyd explains. Isaac makes his way out of the kitchen right as Erica starts snaking her hands around Boyd's waist. Yeah. Derek. That's who he needs to talk to. 

He pushes open the door of the men's bathroom with ease and finds it to be quiet, abandoned completely except for a sole occupied stall, holding one Derek Hale, kneeling so he replace the toilet paper in the proper compartment. He doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge Isaac at all until he says, "I know why you gave me this job." Derek stills at the sound of his voice, muscles tensing. Isaac sees the thought register, watches as Derek realizes who's behind him. 

He turns to face Isaac slowly, eyebrows already raised when he asks, "What?"

"I know why you gave me this job," Isaac repeats. "It's because you wanted to see if I was as much of an asshole is my brother."

That seems to surprise Derek to say the least, although there is a shadow of a grin coming over his lips. He exhales and it fills the bathroom with a quiet echo of his breath. "Maybe I just needed a waiter who could cover night shifts and clean bathrooms."

Isaac shakes his head back at him, that same barely-there grin now crawling its way onto his own face. It's quiet for a moment and Isaac thinks about how it was a month and a half ago that he was in here scrubbing blood from his face and clothes when in walked Scott and his first aid kit. He thinks about the time he hid in here during a hurricane warning with Erica last summer and she had laughed until she fell over because Boyd looked like a drowned puppy when he came inside. He thinks about Laura Hale and he wants to thank her because she didn't just leave this diner to her brother, but to every person who stepped foot through the door. 

Isaac sucks in a breath, runs his hand across the basin of the sink. He says, "I'm not going to apologize. And I'm not going to change my mind, just so you know."

Derek sighs. "Isaac -"

"No, Derek, I mean it. I really couldn't care less about what happens to him or how he spends his time now that I'm out of his hair. He can find some asshole at the bar to beat the shit out of. But I don't want you or Scott or Erica or anyone getting in trouble because of him. Or because of me."

Derek is quiet for a moment, still, and Isaac releases the breath he's been holding. He leans back against the sink as Derek stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. Every movement seems to cause something to echo through the bathroom, causes little sounds to roll off the stall doors and drip from the walls. 

"I don't want you to think that I didn't say anything because I didn't care," Derek says and he's looking Isaac straight in the eye as he does so. It knots Isaac's stomach. "I didn't want you in the Foster system and then I told myself that it wasn't my business, but you're not…." Derek lets out a breath here, long and heavy and he finally breaks eye contact to stare off to his side. "You're not something that I should just ignore."

It takes Isaac a minute to really hear what it is that Derek's saying, but the worlds settle inside of him until he can pull them apart, replay them again. He thinks, in the back of his mind, about the day he and Scott sat on the beach playing their poor excuse for truth or dare. 

_"He's pretty tough on the outside, but he's um…. I don't know, he's not that bad. He's sort of like…."_

_"Family?"_

_"Yeah, kind of."_

"It's okay," Isaac says and it seems to surprise Derek. "I get it."

Derek nods. And maybe he doesn't believe Isaac, but it doesn't matter. Because Isaac believes in his own words enough for the both of them. He doesn't tell Derek that he knows what he wants to say, that he sees Isaac as family as much as Isaac does for him, but he thinks Derek understands that part at least. He's not Camden and Isaac's not Laura, but family isn't about making replacements. You don't have to swap old parts out for new ones. 

Hearts, Isaac thinks, are designed like mosaics. Like stained glass windows, covered in pieces of all different shapes and colors and sizes, but letting light in all the same. 

 

 

They end up having a movie night at Scott's house. Isaac hears the idea sprung upon him and agrees to it all the while pretending like he doesn't know they're just just trying to keep Isaac's mind on something other than everything that happened this morning. 

It still ends up being fun, though, despite the crowd. They close up early, which is practically a Saturday sin and Isaac feels a little guilty because he knows Derek is only doing it because of him and yeah, this center of attention thing is a lot harder than it looks. The only person who doesn't come is Lydia because she has to drive all the way across town. Jackson walks her to her car, though, and they both ignore the crowd of "ooos" that sound from everyone else in the parking lot. 

Stiles is the worst offender out of everyone, but Isaac learns from Danny that it's only because he has it out for Jackson. 

"You should tell Lydia she's way better than that," Stiles says to Erica in what may or may not be an attempt at a stage whisper. 

"I can hear you, Stilinski," Jackson says from where he's leaning against the side of Danny's car. Stiles flinches, but then proceeds to school his expression into The Opposite of Caring and rolls his eyes. 

"I'm just looking out for a friend," he says. 

They all caravan to the Stilinski/McCall/Mahealani (and now, by extension, Whittemore) house. Erica and Boyd drive over in Boyd's car and Jackson and Danny are both in the jeep, so Scott and Isaac get a ride with Derek, who looks anything but pleased when Scott and Isaac "argue" over the passenger seat. They drag it out as long as possible in the parking lot, just to make that I'll Kill Both of You in Your Sleep look on Derek's face deepen. 

"No, no, babe, I insist, you should really take the front seat," Isaac says, hand over his heart. 

"Oh, no, I think it has your name all over it. You deserve it, really," Scott replies in this dramatic tone that has Isaac breaking into a laugh as he tries to formulate a response. 

"I'm calling Stiles to come pick both of you up if you don't get your asses in the car now," Derek snaps from where he's already seated. Scott laughs when he kisses Isaac's cheek before he holds the door of the passenger side open. Isaac beams at Derek when he climbs inside. 

"Love you," Isaac says and he watches Derek's frown deepen. 

"Decent waiter my ass," he mutters. 

There's a bit of a popcorn issue that involves a debate over microwavable brands between Stiles and Jackson, which ends up with Danny intervening and something that looks like a pillow being thrown at Stiles' face. Erica drags Scott away from Isaac the minute he walks through the door and pulls him into the living room for "movie selection". Isaac does his best not to laugh at the way Scott's eyes widen when he's stumbling after her, but he settles for giving him a little thumbs up as he joins Boyd in bringing drinks upstairs from the fridge. 

By the time everything seems to be set up, Erica announces that they'll be watching the Hangover Part II, which earns mixed reactions from the crowd. She tells them to suck it up, though, because it's free on the movie channel and there won't be any commercials. 

Danny settles, with his beer in hand, on the floor in front of the arm chair that Jackson's claimed hold of. He hands Jackson his own drink before taking his seat and Jackson grins. It's possibly the first positive expression Isaac's seen him show in the few hours he's known him. Erica sits on the edge of the couch with her legs over Boyd's lap, his hands canvasing her knees completely. They're grinning at each other while Erica speaks quietly, like she's telling a joke and Isaac pretends not to watch them, really, but it's hard to ignore two people so completely locked up in each other's presence. Stiles has the lost open spot on the couch, passing a beer between himself and Derek, who sits on the floor in front of him, one arm curled around Stiles' leg. He looks like he's fighting his own happiness, really, because when Stiles cards his fingers easily through his hair, that small turn of Derek's lips looks like an accident. 

Isaac looks at the room and there's something inside his chest that keeps knocking around his ribs, keeps thudding into his lungs. He doesn't know when this suddenly became his life, when he became the type of person who belongs to a group, who goes to the beach with friends on the Fourth of July, who has someone who will cover his shift when he goes out to lunch with his boyfriend. Yeah, he definitely doesn't know when he became the type of person who has a boyfriend. 

But he thinks he likes being this person a little bit better than the kid who shows up to Chemistry with a black eye and a half scribbled out homework assignment. 

"Isaac," Scott says and Isaac blinks, turns his head to see Scott sitting on the loveseat on the opposite side of the room from Jackson's. He's smiling, teeth showing, with a blue plastic cup in his hand and the remote control in the other. "You ready?"

Isaac nods and sees Erica glance back at him before he settles in beside Scott, curving his arm around his waist. "Ready," he says and when Stiles gags at them this time, Isaac grins against Scott's lips. 

 

 

Isaac doesn't know his grandmother's middle name or why some people are so afraid of sharks. He doesn't know why wearing white on your wedding day is such a curse if you've already slept with your fiancee. He doesn't know why the oboe is supposedly so much harder to play than the clarinet or why his mom signed him up for trumpet in the second grade. And he doesn't know why people go to church on Sunday instead a time that's just convenient for them. 

What he does know is that it's okay to cry - at your cousin's wedding or your grandmother's funeral or on a Wednesday night when your lungs don't feel right. He knows that everybody is afraid of something and more often than not, it's not the only thing. He knows that all of the songs he played on stage combined don't mean half as much as the ones Scott gave him on the Harris Point CD and he knows that he's not much for praying or talking about God, but he says something like a prayer to himself during the middle of the Hangover Part II. 

He prays that the people around him see half as much good in him as he does in them.

 

 

Isaac doesn't realize how long of a day it's been until he's in bed that night, with Scott pressing kisses into his throat, along his jaw, and up to his ear. The windows are open in his bedroom and Stiles' voice can be heard from the outside of the door, teasing Derek about something in the kitchen. He's a little bit beyond the point of tipsy and Isaac's wondering how exactly he convinced Derek to let him come over after the movie, but he thinks it may have something to do with that stupid starry eyed look Derek gets whenever Stiles says his name and "later tonight" in the same sentence. 

Isaac twists a piece of Scott's hair between his fingers, watches it catch the light pouring in from their sides. Isaac doesn't understand a lot about poetry and the only poem he's ever bothered to learn outside of school is that one on his mother's headstone. But he thinks he understands it a little bit better when Scott is lying close to him at night, breathing steadily and kissing him like he feels exactly the same as Isaac does. 

When Scott laughs into the dark from Isaac running his fingers along his spine, quiet and content, Isaac thinks about poetry and music and famous words by dead people who will never matter to him, but who he's heard quoted a thousand times nonetheless.

He thinks about the lines, "you are whatever a moon has always meant / and whatever a sun will always sing is you" and he watches the stars collect in Scott's hair. 

"I'm really proud of you," Scott says and his voice hits Isaac like a breeze, soft and inviting. 

"For what?" 

"For what you did today. Going back to face your dad, standing up to him. It wasn't a little thing. It was a big deal."

Isaac doesn't really know what to say to that, so he just nods and closes his eyes when Scott kisses his forehead. He holds onto Scott's hand for a while, though, and when Isaac tells the story of the first time he got locked up in the freezer, Scott listens. And he curls his arms a little tighter around Isaac's waist, presses a kiss to Isaac's hairline for every tear that falls down his cheek. 

Isaac wonders, distantly, how he became the type of person who could show every side of themselves to one person with the trust that they wouldn't turn away. 

He blames Scott completely. In the absolute best kind of way.

 

 

Isaac would be lying if he were to say that he remembers the rest of July. 

The crowd at the diner seems to grow with every passing day and Boyd goes on a mission to find the perfect new syrup flavor, but other than that Laura's remains the same. Derek lets Isaac leave work early on Thursdays and he spends those evenings with Scott and Stiles usually, playing lacrosse on the beach and touring the local restaurants. Scott spends more and more time at the apartment now that Jackson's sort of taken over his bedroom back at his own house, but Derek doesn't seem to mind - even though he still shoots Isaac that "Safe Sex Talk" look from time to time that makes Isaac want to tell Derek he's the most embarrassing stand-in guardian of all time. 

The sheriff comes by for a weekend towards the end of the month and he meets everyone at Laura's - including Derek who is introduced strictly as a friend by Stiles. He's extremely polite to all of them despite the exasperated look he wears whenever Stiles starts ushering him around different parts of the diner and Isaac definitely sees the resemblance between the two of them, how much of the Sheriff Stiles really has in him. 

When he meets Isaac he says, "So you're the famous Isaac, huh? I've heard a lot about you from Scott's mom." 

Isaac suddenly feels incredibly self conscious under the observation of the parents of Beacon Hills, but he just tries to school his expression into cool, calm, and collected as he says, "I've heard a lot about you, too, sir."

Scott pokes fun at him all day for the formality, but Isaac doesn't care. He can handle easing up around Melissa, but Law Enforcement Father Figure Stilinski? Maybe not so much. Even though Isaac really does think he seems great and Scott clearly loves him, so that's an automatic A in his book. 

Danny has two more bonfires before the end of the month, the first in honor of Jackson's arrival to the beach, which has a turnout including some people Isaac swears he's never seen before in his life but apparently have lived in town as long as he has. He and Scott only stay for a while at that one before they cut out to revisit the top of the pier. This time, when they jump, Isaac kisses him at the water's edge and presses Scott's bare back against one the wooden posts until he says Isaac's name as a plea.

Isaac may or may not blow Scott underneath the pier the night of Danny's first bonfire party. 

He also may or may not take pride in the sounds he can pull from Scott's throat and the way Scott's fingers tighten in the hair at the back of his head. 

The second party comes a few days before the Sheriff comes to town and this one's a little more exclusive. It's on a Saturday, so Isaac shows up, but the rest of the crew from Laura's is working, so Stiles sticks beside he and Scott for most of the night. Despite the fact that this party's a lot smaller and in Danny's backyard instead of the beach, there's twice the beer and cheap booze and it ends up being the first time Isaac sees Scott drunk - like not Fourth of July buzzed, but really drunk. 

He's a happy drunk, though, slurring words against Isaac's skin, always pressed up against Isaac's side with hands slipping under his tee shirt and a grin that never fades. There's some sort of game that most of the party is consumed is about an hour into the party, but Scott pulls Isaac up and drags him over to the space where a few people are dancing beside one of the speakers. Isaac laughs when Scott beams at him, hands on his hips, and he can feel his own grin spreading when Scott apologizes for stepping on his feet. 

"I think I look like an idiot," Scott says when he starts to sway a little on his feet. Isaac steadies him upright though, takes it as his cue to start pulling Scott from the dancing area. 

"Never," Isaac tells him, shaking his head, but Scott narrows his eyes at him in some sort of warning. "Well… no more than usual," he corrects with a smile that Scott only mirrors. 

Isaac brings him black coffee in bed the next morning before work and kissing Scott a "good morning" is still nice even when he tastes vaguely of beer and jello shots. 

 

 

He makes it through all of July without seeing his father's face physically, but nearly every night he still wakes up to his own erratic breathing or a cold sweater over his forehead. Some nights are easier than others. On the best ones, he doesn't even wake Scott and he can get a glass of water or crawl back under to sheet to press his chest against Scott's back without question or fear of worrying him. One good nights, he can be talked back into sleeping with Scott's voice and an arm around his waist or lips pressed to his temple. 

Worse nights are scattered, but they are always cold. They always make Isaac squeeze his nails into his palms, rake his fingers through his hair until there's nothing left to undo, nothing left to pull at. 

The worst night of all comes on the last day of the month. 

It's a Wednesday, so work had been fine, if not a little slow. They had sandwiches for lunch behind the diner since Isaac couldn't take a break for long - with it being Erica's day off - but it was still nice and Scott had kissed him goodbye with the promise that he was going to pick up the Batman movies from Stiles later so that they could marathon them at the apartment. They did, which was awesome and Isaac had found a new appreciation for Robin Blake in his rematch only because he reminded him of Scott - just a little bit. 

Isaac climbs into the bed feeling good, actually - like really good. He doesn't even remember falling asleep, he's so beyond tired, but he remembers Scott still being awake, still looking for something he had apparently dropped under the bed. He remembers Scott saying along the lines of "just close your eyes, Isaac", but he doesn't know when exactly he listened to Scott's words. 

Here's how it starts: everything is blurry, moving too fast with colors smeared together in patterns Isaac doesn't know how to read. Most of them are blues, greens, a few varieties of gray. He's in his basement, he thinks, and there isn't a single light on. He can see the freezer though, can see streaks of something dark beside it. Dried blood, maybe. Shadows?

And then there's this laugh and it echoes all around him and sends shivers down Isaac's spine. And cold, he's so, so cold. He can feel his hands shaking and his lips trembling and he's wrapping his arms around himself, but when he does so, it feels like the walls are closing in. He tries to breath, but it feels like there's something thick in his throat, lining it and coating it with something coppery. He knows that taste. 

The laugh finally has a source and Isaac thinks that it's coming from behind him, so he turns, but there's no one there. And he's not in the basement anymore, but outside of the apartment building instead. At least he thinks it's the apartment building. Everything seems to be blurring again, like wet ink on a page. 

The freezer is still beside him, though, and he can see that just fine. 

He realizes then that the laugh is coming from the stairs leading towards Derek's apartment. And there's his father staring him down with wide eyes and no, he's not smiling at all. He's looking at Isaac with hard eyes and, no wait, where did he get that bottle?

Isaac ducks when it's thrown at him and he hears it break over his head on the wall behind him because he's not in front of the apartment anymore, but in his front hall instead. And there are cuts on his arms and a pounding is his head and his father is screaming, "I always told your mother there was something wrong with you!"

And it's all playing out all over again with the cursing and the kicking and the toppling down the stairs until Isaac is in the basement again. And he's not crying, but his face feels wet - is he sweating? He just keeps trying to say "stop" and "don't" or scream back anything but he can't. He just keeps taking blow after blow to the chest until finally something inside of him snaps and he grabs onto his father's wrists. 

He feels himself being pushed into the floor and that's when he opens his eyes. 

For a moment, he's still thrashing, trying to move from underneath whoever is holding him down because he can't do this again. He can't let his father leave him to bleed out in the box until Derek breaks in. He can't let him have that victory. And then he hears a voice yelling his name and he realizes he still has a hold on the set of wrists keeping him from moving. 

And all at once all he sees is a pair of wide brown eyes and long arms and Scott's bare chest above him. And he's shaking so hard, lips still trembling and he can feel the front of his hair is matted to his forehead, and, shit - shit. 

"Isaac," Scott says and his voice is still a little more forceful than Isaac can handle right now, a little too rough, but it's softer at least than when he was yelling it a few minutes ago. "You're okay. It's okay. Isaac?"

Isaac closes his eyes again and it takes several minutes for him to get a hold on his breathing, to set it at a pace that allows him to speak. When he does speak, however, he can barely understand his own words, bitten out and shaken. 

"I thought, he said - Scott," he says and only when he opens his eyes again does he realize that he still has a hold on Scott's wrists. He lets go immediately and shuffles way too quickly to be sitting up, to put a little bit of distance between even though Scott is just straddling Isaac's legs now instead of his waist. "I didn't…." Isaac says uselessly, with no thought to connect to the end of that statement and wow, he can't get his lips to stop trembling.

"It's okay," Scott tells him, now in that soft voice that chills Isaac's skin the good way. He uses his free hands to wipe the hair from Isaac's forehead and he keeps his eyes on Isaac's face until Isaac meets them. "It's okay," he repeats. 

Isaac just shakes his head and his eyes are blurring again, but he thinks it might be for a different reason than something that has to do with his head. Scott crawls back into Isaac's space until he's straddling Isaac's waist again. He puts his hands on either side of Isaac's face until Isaac can get some of his shaking to cease and then he says, in a voice just above a whisper, "No one's going to hurt you like that ever again. I promise, Isaac."

Isaac doesn't know if he believes him, but nothing feels safer or more like home than Scott's arms around him, Isaac's face buried into the crook of his neck. 

 

 

"I think maybe I'm still worried he'll try to do something to Derek… or you."

"Don't be," Scott whispers and he traces a circle into Isaac's shoulder. "He knows better than to try something on Derek now, right?"

Isaac huffs. "You would think."

The room is silent for a moment until Scott hums quietly and says, "You don't deserve it, by the way. The nightmares, the bruises - you don't deserve any of it. No one does, I mean, but… you shouldn't think that you're some special exception, like you deserved a dad like yours."

Isaac nods before he says anything, just stares at his fingers locked with Scott's free hand between them on the bed. "Maybe," Isaac says, but he thinks Scott hears what he means, hears the way Isaac believes him a little bit more every time he says it. Because he may not always trust himself, but he sure as hell trusts Scott. 

 

 

Isaac doesn't know how pets learn their names or how babies learn to walk or how it felt when the first people set foot on the moon. 

What he knows is that the stars have never looked bigger or brighter than they do with Stiles is pointing at them from the beach, listening to Lydia list off different names of constellations when he can't think of them himself. And the August night air has never felt as warm as when Danny races him to the water and Scott and Erica come running in after them, Boyd trailing a few feet behind with a beer in his hand and a grin on his face. 

What he knows is that August fifth is a big day for meteor showers because they all meet up on the sand around eleven thirty and they don't go home until three, when Scott's laugh is soft and his eyes are bright and Isaac thinks "I love you" over and over and over and over. 

 

 

It's roughly two weeks before the day Isaac is definitely not thinking about when he takes Scott out to dinner across town. It's one of those Thursdays that Derek lets him off early and Isaac leaps on the opportunity maybe a little too quickly, but he couldn't care less. 

They take Danny's car - after Isaac promises to chip in for new speakers - to a french cafe about twenty minutes from the diner. It's small and laid back enough to wear tee shirts to, but the food is good and reasonably priced, and they play music that makes Scott smile. Isaac rests his feet on top of Scott's underneath their table outside of the restaurant's front window and probably stares a little too much because Scott keeps asking him what's up and Isaac just keeps telling him, "Nothing."

(What's up is that Lydia started school yesterday and that's the biggest wakeup call Isaac's had all summer to tell him that Scott won't be here forever. That he has a life in a town miles and miles away that doesn't involve Isaac. And, wow, hey, they've never really talked about what happens after the day Scott goes home for lacrosse tryouts. The closest they've come is Scott saying said tryouts were going to be held on the 30th.) 

(What's up is that Isaac is in love with Scott in the best way and the thought of telling him makes his stomach knot into ways Isaac hadn't realized were possible.)

(What's up is that Scott's eyes are still the most alarming shade of brown Isaac has ever seen.)

They have soup and salad and these burgers that sound gourmet and look it too, but taste better than anything Isaac's eaten in his entire life. He totally doesn't memorize the little moans Scott makes when he bites into his food and he definitely does not revel with pride when he makes Scott laugh from terrible attempts to pronounce French words on the menu. The dessert is chocolate everything and Isaac doesn't even really eat much of it because he's so stuffed, but he does get whipped cream on his nose courtesy of Scott and his little sheepish grin. 

"You're the actual worst to eat with," Isaac tells him, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh yeah?" Scott asks. "Is that why you asked me out here? Because I am the 'actual worst to eat with'?" 

Isaac just laughs. 

They take a walk after dinner down to this park that Isaac's been talking about taking Scott to see for about two weeks now. It's small - nothing special, really, but it has a few benches and a wide piece of open grass where different festivals are sometimes held. There's a concert going on when they get there, a man with a guitar and a girl with a soft voice playing for a fairly sizable group of people who are swaying in time to the music. 

Scott squeezes Isaac's hand when they get close enough to hear the music and to see that everyone is actually dancing to the slow song playing. He doesn't have to turn his head to know Scott's eyes are lit up with questioning, with a silent "can we".

"C'mon," Scott says, pulling Isaac towards the crowd. "I'll make up for being a horrible dining partner."

Isaac swears he hears Erica's voice in the back of his head making gushing sound at him as he follows Scott reluctantly. They keeps their distance of a few feet from everyone, though, and Isaac is admittedly feeling the slightest bit better about the situation when Scott leans into him, one hand weaving through the back of his hair. 

Maybe he feels a little bit ridiculous slow dancing in the middle of this park wearing jeans and a sweater - especially since he's never really danced like this before - but he focuses less on how he might look to everyone else and instead on how me might look to Scott. 

"Jackson said Lydia shot him down for a date," Scott says, breath tickling Isaac's neck. 

"Oh yeah?" 

Scott hums affirmatively. "She said she wasn't going to do the whole long distance relationship thing or something and even if he wasn't interested in a relationship, she wasn't interested in him."

"Ouch," Isaac says and it comes out as a breathy laugh. He can hear Scott do the same. There's a pause, though, a moment of silent hesitation between them. And Isaac is scared of the words that are coming out of his mouth, but he feels like maybe he should say them anyways. "It's probably, um… better that way, though, right? I mean, they say long distance relationships never really… work out, you know?"

Scott looks up at him, eyes a little wide, lips slightly parted. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "But um… people still try, though."

Isaac nods and there's a lump in his throat suddenly. "There's always Skype and phone calls."

"And road trips are usually pretty fun," Scott offers.

Isaac laughs at that, but the sound isn't happy. He feels the sad smile on his lips and sees it reflected back at him through Scott. They fall back into silence, swaying to the music, and Scott leans his head against the crook of Isaac's shoulder. 

Isaac thinks about jumping off piers and climbing up paths at Harris Point and he thinks about how E. E. Cummings wrote the words "anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done / by only me is your doing, my darling". He thinks about Scott's hair when he wakes up in the morning and the way he kisses Isaac good night.

And before Isaac can think better of it, he whispers, "I don't want to give you up."

Scott's fingers twist a piece of his hair carefully and over the music, Isaac hears the faint reply, "I promise not to make you."

 

 

Here is what Isaac doesn't know. 

He doesn't know how The Beatles got together or if one of them secretly hated the others. He doesn't know how many miles there are between Beacon Hills and Harris point or whether a physical number would ease the thought of those lacrosse tryouts any more. He doesn't know why Lydia rejected Jackson Whittemore, or if Mr. Cooper's grandson said his first words yet, or why Algebra is so much harder for him than Geometry. 

He doesn't know how to say "I love you" in French. 

But here's what he does know.

He knows that no matter how famous the Beatles were, none of their songs will ever mean half as much to him as the one he danced to with Scott in the middle of that little park. He knows that Beacon Hills and Derek's apartment are roughly three and half hours away by car, however many miles that may be. And he knows that once he starts Pre-Calc, he'll miss both Geometry and Algebra in any form. 

He also knows that there was a man named E. E. Cummings and he wrote a poem that his mother loved so much she picked a line from it to be on her headstone. And now whenever Isaac visits her, he reads below the line that says "beloved mother, daughter, and wife", "this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart / i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)". 

And he knows that no matter which language it is in which those three words are being said, he won't love Scott any less. 

And he will always carry him in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say, oh my gosh. First of all, I've been cleaning up Here and Now in preparation to finally bring the fic to a close within the next few days so you'll notice the end notes are now gone from the previous chapters. Secondly, you may notice that the description says there are ten chapters. The last chapter is actually sort of an epilogue and it won't be as long as a regular chapter, but it will be published within the next few days. I WANT TO SAY A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who's given me a chance. You're all amazing and you have no idea how much your support means to me. I'm still incredibly nervous about my writing, but significantly less so thanks to your kind words <3 Now, I have some links for you!
> 
> [the poem by E. E. Cummings](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179622) | [the song Isaac and Scott danced to](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LqPBRXVrpA)| [and my blog](http://daneilsharman.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter Ten (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so emotional about everything right now. Thank you so much for those wonderful comments/messages after the last chapter. This story has meant so much to me. It's been such a privilege to share it with you all and I hope you enjoy the ending. Thank you. So, so much.

Scott's last day in town is a Wednesday. 

Isaac wakes up before the alarm goes off and finds Scott already awake, tracing lines into the skin of his back. They don't say anything, just lie in the silence for a few minutes, letting the sun rise without them. Isaac thinks he hears the shower running and a car pulling onto the street in the distance, but he tries to focus on nothing else except the quiet hum of Scott's breath. 

In. Out. In.

Isaac closes his eyes for a moment and he tries to think of patterns and things he learned in Anatomy about the respiratory system. He is not thinking about how Scott sat with him atop a cliff or how he looks when he comes out of the shower. He is not thinking about the way his arms look in Isaac's sweaters or how even when he's gone from the bed, Isaac can smell him on the sheets. 

He is not thinking about how at this time tomorrow, the Jeep will be loaded up with everything Scott and Stiles took from their homes to Isaac's town and Scott will be pulling further and further away with every passing minute, every passing mile.

"Did I wake you up?" Scott asks and he's smiling, faintly. 

Isaac shakes his head and he wants to laugh, suddenly, to let out what's bubbling up inside of him - the overwhelming disbelief that for a whole summer he was able to lie in warmth of Scott McCall. He's angry, too, though. He's angry about high school and distance and the people who will see Scott in the hallways every day for the rest of the year. He is angry that he cannot ask Scott to say or rewind time or go relive his first kiss just so he can pull Scott back in a second longer. 

He wants to say all of this, too, to tell Scott everything that lives inside of him, but instead he says, "Can I ask you to do something?" And Scott looks up at him with those brown eyes and this look on his face like Isaac should know the answer to his question and, wow, no, Isaac so does not need this right now. "Can you just… talk for a little while?"

Scott's smile spreads out slowly, lips turning and eyes crinkling. He nods and says, "Yeah, sure." And then he shifts in position so that Isaac can tuck into his side, head on his chest. When Scott breathes in, Isaac feels it move him as well. When he sighs, Isaac feels pressure releasing from his lungs. He doesn't remember anything from Anatomy, he realizes, but he has Scott's entire body memorized. 

"What do you want me to talk about?" He asks, fingers weaving in and out Isaac's at the center of his chest. 

Isaac shrugs. "Anything. Tell me a story."

Scott laughs at that, amused, and hums against Isaac's hairline. "Okay," he says. "Stiles and I tried to make pancakes once. We were ten, maybe eleven, and he was sleeping over at my house. It wasn't Mother's Day yet, but it was getting close, and I was nervous because my clay pot broke. We'd made them in art class. They were supposed to be gifts for everyone's moms, but Jackson pushed Stiles into me when I was taking mine over to the painting station or something. I tried to keep Stiles from falling and I wasn't paying attention - and, yeah, okay. It was just a big mess in the fifth grade art department."

Isaac huffs a laugh and he watches Scott's lips turn upwards before he continues. "So, anyways, I didn't have a gift for my mom and I was freaking out and Stiles had this idea that if we made pancakes, she would be happy and maybe just accept a handmade card or something. Because Stiles has this theory that pancakes are the cure for sadness. So, we woke up really early on Saturday to try and make them, but my mom ended up walking in on us with batter spilled down half the front of the fridge and all over the counters and ourselves. And we only had three pancakes done and two of them were burnt."

"Well, at least you had one," Isaac offers. 

Scott shakes his head. "That one was under cooked. It was a disaster, okay? It was like the Great Pancake Tragedy of my life." Isaac tries his best not to laugh at the defeated look on Scott's face, but he continues on, his free hand now absently running through Isaac's hair. "But Stiles, he still sort of believed that pancakes were the answer to everything. This is where the story starts, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you ready?"

"Are you going to say 'once upon a time'?"

"Should I?"

"You should."

Scott nods, very diplomatically, and clears his throat then. "Okay. Once upon a time, I had a friend named Stiles who decided that the two days we had spent at the beach had been ruined by my 'dreary disposition' and the only way to cure that was with pancakes. So, he found this local diner and suggested that we bike to it, which we did. Do you want to know what the name of the diner was?"

"I don't know. Sounds kind of dodgy," Isaac mumbles against Scott's chest. 

Scott laughs. "Yeah, actually, it was pretty bad considering Stiles' bike got stolen from out front and when I went to the bathroom, but there was this cute guy bleeding into one of the sinks."

"The blood was already dried."

"You're ruining my story," Scott tells him and this time Isaac rolls his eyes to suppress a smile. "Anyways, those pancakes turned out to be how I met Prince Charming."

"Scott -"

"You wanted a fairytale," he insists, twisting a piece of Isaac's hair. Isaac so wants to resent that grin on Scott's face. He so wants to. 

"Does that make you a knight in shining armor?" Isaac asks, eyebrows raised, but Scott just smirks at him.

"Actually, I was hoping to be Snow White. She's friends with all the animals and everything."

Isaac shakes his head until he can't keep in his laughter anymore and he kisses Scott like there's never going to be a goodbye. Like it's June instead of August, like the "I love you" Isaac can't say has been written into Scott's skin. 

 

 

Danny throws a party that Wednesday night - as if that's a big surprise to any of them. 

This one's a little different than the others, though, because it's limited to everyone from the diner. There's cheap beer and good music and a bonfire on the beach in the little specified area, though, so it's no worse than any of the other parties. Actually, it may be just that much better. 

Erica makes Isaac dance with her to an upbeat song until he can't hold in a laugh anymore and Boyd laughs too, low and content. Danny, Lydia, and Jackson play some drinking game Isaac's never heard of, but no one else besides the three of them can keep up with anyways. They seem pleased enough with it, though, so Isaac guesses that's what counts. Derek and Stiles disappear at one point and reappear "casually" some twenty minutes later both with these stupid, buzzed grins on their faces. Isaac wants to laugh at both of them for thinking their "taking a break" plan is really going to work until Stiles graduates. 

Isaac loses Scott for the first part of the night which is borderline kind of shitty, but he's just being dragged up again by Erica when he feels a pair of hands slip over his hips and a soft hum at the back of his ear. 

"I had to go get stuff for s'mores," Scott explains and Isaac smiles to himself. 

"Thought maybe you'd left early," he says. 

Scott's laugh is quiet, barely audible over the music and other voices. He presses his forehead into Isaac's shoulder - achingly familiar - and tells him, "Not without you."

They all end up making a mess of the s'mores, sitting around the fire. Scott gets marshmallow on every bit of his face and Isaac totally doesn't enjoy every minute he gets to spend kissing it off. Nope. Not at all. Especially not when Scott scrunches up his nose and laughs so that Isaac can smell the chocolate on his lips. 

How did he get stuck with the most disgustingly adorable boyfriend of all time?

Lydia and Danny end up being the only two by the end of the night who haven't burnt their marshmallows and Boyd may or may not fall asleep with his head in Erica's lap and a graham cracker still in his grip. They all play some version of Have You Ever and Jackson and Stiles get into some stupid argument over something related to lacrosse, but by the time midnight rolls around, they all fall into a contented silence, watching the flames burn low. 

Isaac rubs his hand in constant circles over Scott's back, Scott tucked against his side all the while. And Danny and Derek start talking about the tourism crowd around Christmas time, but Isaac doesn't listen. 

He instead whispers to Scott, "Do you think we should wake up Boyd and Erica?"

Scott shakes his head, but Isaac realizes upon looking down at him, that his eyes are closed as well. "No," Scott says and he curls his fingers into Isaac's sweater. "Let's just… sit for a little bit."

Isaac may keep his eyes on Scott a little longer than he should and he may bury his nose into Scott's hair in a way that definitely doesn't help the knot in his stomach. He may also whisper "okay" into the darkness, but he's not sure if the word ever leaves his mouth. 

Derek leaves around one - nodding to Isaac before he does so. Stiles follows him out, too, and takes a sleepy hug from Erica and shoulder squeeze from Boyd as a goodbye. He and Lydia exchange some sort of smile no one can decipher and Stiles says something that nearly makes her laugh, but Isaac doesn't catch what it is. He does catch, however, the way Derek's hand slips into Stiles' back pocket as the two of them head up the beach, towards the cars. 

There's a lot more hugging, too, before Jackson and Danny put out the fire. Erica even slumps over to Scott after she and Boyd regain consciousness so that she can tug him into some sort of embrace. 

She says, "You better come back and visit. You're basically our number one customer at this point." Scott laughs, shakes his head, but Erica just grins back at him before pointing at Isaac. "And you, the first long weekend of the year we're taking a road trip to Beacon Hills."

Isaac raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? In what car?"

"I have connections," she tells him, flashing a smile at Boyd, who in turn simply gives her a defeated sigh. "We'll make it happen."

 

 

They walk to Scott's house because Danny and Jackson aren't ready to leave when they are and Boyd and Erica are heading all the way to other side of town, and maybe partially because it's one thirty in the morning and the air is still warm and Scott's fingers locked with his feel like a promise. 

The shops are closed and the streets are quiet, but Scott talks about his favorite dog they take care of at the clinic and Isaac hears his own laughter settle into the abandoned air of the town. He is not thinking about tomorrow morning. Definitely not. Especially not when Scott kisses him on the front porch, tugging at the sides or his sweater. Or when Scott's hands fan out over his skin, pulling him through the doorway. 

He is not thinking about distance or gas money or phone bills, but instead about brown eyes and soft lips and tanned skin. 

 

 

It's three AM when Scott whispers, "I have something for you."

And Isaac shakes his head, pretends like Scott's smile isn't contagious. "Scott."

"It's not a big thing, you don't have to get mad at me," he says before he shifts to be lying on his stomach, reaching an arm down to grab something from underneath his bed. When he returns to face Isaac he has a glorified lump covered in wrapping paper in his hands. He nods for Isaac to take it, clearly amused by his apprehensive expression.

"Scott," he says again, this time taking the Unidentified Wrapped Up Object in his hands. 

"Just open it."

Isaac does, tearing a whole through the middle of the paper in anything but neat manner, until he can remove Scott's gift. When he does, he can see that's a it's a sweatshirt - dark red - with big, white letters printed on it that say "Beacon Hills" and then below the logo, "Varsity Lacrosse". When he flips it over, he can see that the sweatshirt also has Scott's number and his last name printed across the top. The material is soft, worn down slightly, but familiar in Isaac's hands. 

"It's, um, my team sweatshirt from last year. You borrowed it when we went to Laura's that one time. I thought maybe you could wear it if you came to visit. You know, so everyone knows you're rooting for the right team and everything." Scott's smiling softly, when Isaac looks up at him, but there's questioning in his eyes, too, as if he's not sure Isaac feels the same way he does. As if. 

Isaac looks from the sweatshirt in his hands to Scott again before he kisses Scott, leans forward until he can taste Scott's smile and the subtle remnants of the beer and s'mores from the party. He's kissed Scott a hunted times tonight, but his stomach still swirls and his heart still races when Scott pulls him closer, when he rests his hand on Isaac's chest. 

Isaac whispers, upon resting his forehead against Scott's, "Thank you." 

Scott beams, like a candle in the dark of the room. "Any time." 

 

 

An hour before Scott and Stiles are supposed to leave for Beacon Hills, Isaac lies with Scott under the sheets, and he hears Scott say, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Tell me a secret."

Isaac smiles, feels Scott's fingers running across his collarbone like electricity through his whole body. He breathes in, lets the smell of Scott's sheets, his skin, fill the air around him, and then he says, "I love you." 

Scott's eyes light up when he looks at Isaac and god, if Isaac could pick one moment to relive he would trade out jumping off every pier in the world to replay that look on Scott's face. Like Isaac is everything he wants, like Isaac is more than enough. Like he could hear those words as many times over as Isaac is willing to repeat them. 

Scott kisses him under the sheets until Isaac can't remember why secrets are ever kept in the first place. 

 

 

Isaac thinks memories are funny things in the way they pick and choose moments to hold onto. 

He won't remember the color of Stiles' shirt when he's loading up the Jeep with his and Scott's bags or how many cups of coffee he and Scott share in the morning. He won't remember what time it is exactly when Scott looks at him like he doesn't know if getting into the car s the right thing to do or which part of town Scott says Stiles' aunt lives. He won't remember what song is playing on the radio when Stiles rolls down the windows before pulling out of the driveway.

What he'll remember is the way Stiles squeezes his shoulder in a goodbye and says, "Should I even say goodbye? I don't think I should say goodbye. That seems a little too foreboding." He'll remember the feel of Scott's sheets against his skin when Scott pulls him back into bed for just another minute and the way Scott kisses his forehead when they stand on the front porch for the last time. He'll remember how Scott's voice sounds when he tells Isaac that he's never going to be any more than a phone call or a car ride away and that if anything - "I mean anything, Isaac" - happens that he'll be there as soon as he can. 

"Or sooner," Scott tells him. "Just… don't think you have to keep things from me because I'm back home or something because it's not my choice. I don't want to -" He stops himself here, breathes in, and shakes his head. Isaac puts his hands at either side of Scott's face. 

"It's okay," he says like Scott's done to him so many times. 

Scott tastes like coffee and pop-tarts when he kisses Isaac and when he says, "I love you" in between breaths, Isaac feels goosebumps rise.

 

 

When he comes into Laura's about an hour later, Erica slides him a cup of coffee across the bar and Boyd gives him this sort of half-smile through the order-up window. 

"Do you miss him already?" She asks, elbows leaned against the bar.

Isaac narrows his eyes over his coffee. "He's been gone an hour, E."

"You totally already miss him. I can see it on your face."

Isaac says nothing, but in the quiet annoyance of his coffee-drinking, he attempts to school his expression into something that reads I'm Totally Not Hung Up About My Boyfriend Who Lives Three Hours Away.

(When Scott texts him twenty minutes later he says: "Already planning your first visit btw. We're finishing our zombie marathon."

Isaac definitely does not grin to himself like an idiot in the middle of Laura's when he types back: "How romantic."

Scott says, "You love me."

Isaac replies, "You love me back.")

 

 

Scott calls him later that night and laughs into the phone upon Isaac's greeting. They talk about the tryouts - Scott did well, as if that's a shocker - and traffic and animated movies and things that don't matter, really, but that make Isaac smile to himself nevertheless. He sits on the steps leading up to Derek's apartment when he talks and then eventually moves up to his room when it gets close to midnight. 

Isaac wills himself not to panic over little things like the place in his bed where Scott should be when he lies down, phone still pressed against his ear, but Scott's voice is easy enough to focus on. 

"I have a secret for you, to make up for this morning," Scott says and Isaac can practically hear his smile. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but you can't laugh." Isaac rolls his eyes even though Scott can't see him, but he waits for Scott to continue on. "I already miss you," he says. 

Isaac closes his eyes. "Maybe you just miss the pancakes."

"Maybe," Scott muses and it's quiet between them for a moment. Isaac thinks of nights when Camden was overseas, he thinks of the miles between Derek's apartment and Scott's house. Scott breaks the silence with a long exhale and a soft, "Do you promise to have some for me tomorrow morning?"

"I promise."

"With blueberries?" Scott asks.

"With blueberries," Isaac assures. 

"That's why you're the best," Scott tells him. "You better take pictures."

Isaac laughs, promises to do so in a mocking tone that only makes Scott laugh back at him. He splits a plate of blueberry pancakes the next day with Erica for lunch and he spends most of the meal talking about Scott. Erica just shakes her head at him with an expression Isaac can only hope is fond. 

 

 

August turns to September and before Isaac knows it school is in full swing and he's back to working part time at Laura's and calling Scott on his break, in the mornings, when he's supposed to be writing an English paper. The air turns colder, but not terribly so, and Erica still goes to the beach with him on scattered weekends to watch the sunset. They go once with Boyd at night after they all get off work and Isaac mimics the gag noises Stiles used to pull whenever he and Erica take the PDA thing too far. 

(He definitely doesn't call Scott ten minutes later just to hear him talk about how ridiculous his Pre-Calc teach is. Nope.)

The nightmares are getting better, Isaac thinks, if such a thing can be said. The worst happens over labor day weekend when he just can't shake the sweat off of himself. He takes a shower at three in the morning and tries focusing on his breathing in the comforting humidity of the bathroom, but nothing works.

He ends up padding down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants and Scott's lacrosse sweatshirt until he reaches the couch, which he plants himself in the middle of. He flips through nearly all of Derek's channels, just look for something - anything - to distract himself with before he hears a throat clear behind him. He jumps at the sound, almost drops the remote, but Derek just stands with his arms crossed over his chest, staring Isaac down. 

"It's three thirty," Derek tells him. "In the morning."

Isaac, after getting his heart rate back to normal, runs a hand through his hair and motions in front of himself uselessly. "Sorry," he says. "I, um… couldn't sleep."

"Couldn't go back to sleep?" Derek corrects and there's a hesitance to his voice. Isaac swallows before he nods slowly, reluctantly. Derek makes a short humming sound and then he's crossing the room to reach the couch and jerking his head towards the end of it. "Move over," he says and Isaac does. 

They watch 21 Jump Street on one of the movie channels and whenever Isaac huffs a laugh or so much as grins to himself, he swears he sees Derek relax into himself just the slightest bit. They talk about Seth Rogen - who Derek apparently has something against - and why he's not as funny as Jonah Hill. They talk about stupid comedies and Tarantino movies and Samuel L Jackson and comic books and Isaac doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up on the couch around seven with Derek's hand shaking his shoulder.

"We're ten minutes late for opening already," Derek says.

Isaac rubs a hand over his eyes. "You could've woken me up ten minutes ago, then," he mumbles.

"Tried. Besides, being late is sort of your trademark." Derek full on grins at his own remark. Isaac covers his face with his arms. 

 

 

September becomes October before Isaac's eyes and his days become crisp air and scattered leaves and video calls over half finished homework. He sees Stiles in one of the calls and he not-so-discreetly asks about Derek, to which Isaac replies that he's practically pining every day. It earns him a satisfied smirk. 

October also means it's Isaac's birthday. His eighteenth birthday. 

The date falls on a Friday, smack in the middle of the month. Isaac is on the phone with Scott when it turns midnight. Scott counts down the seconds through Isaac's protesting and muffled laughter and when the minute finally turns, he says, "It's officially your birthday! Do you feel older?"

Isaac shakes his head. "Oh yeah. Much older. In fact, this sudden burst of maturity is making me consider an interest in older guys."

Scott merely makes an "as if" huff at him. They don't talk about Isaac's father because Isaac now has the right to pretend like he's never been in his life, like he's not connected to him at all. Instead, they talk about cake and amusement parks and Isaac says, "I miss you" just so so he can hear Scott say, "I miss you back."

He wakes in the morning only to be greeted by Derek in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a self-satisfied expression. Isaac laughs because he can't hep it and he eats about four of them before they absolutely have to get out the door. Derek says, "Happy birthday, Isaac," before Isaac slides out of the Camaro and Isaac doesn't know what to say in response, so he just smiles and tells him his pancakes were almost as good as Boyd's.

Derek shakes his head, but he's smiling. 

Scott texts him all throughout the day, sending him pictures of Danny and Stiles and even Jackson holding up little handwritten birthday cards. He also gets a picture of Melissa after school with her hands on her hips, looking at Scott like she's just about two hundred percent done with him. "We're celebrating your birthday in two different cities," Scott explains when he calls Isaac after class. "That's how big of a deal it is."

They have a small party at Laura's - nothing big, really. They close up early and put down the blinds so that people can't see into the diner when they play music on Boyd's speakers. Boyd and Erica bring cupcakes and they stick a candle in one, sing to Isaac until he feels like it's his face that's on fire, and demand that he make a wish at the end. 

(He wishes that his father doesn't remember it's his birthday. He didn't last year. 

Isaac thinks it might be easier for him that way, even though the thought makes his skin itch and his back shiver and wow, no, he's not thinking about that now. Or ever.)

Lydia gives him a sweater. It's dark green and soft and possibly the nicest piece of clothing he's ever been able to call his. He pulls it over the white undershirt he's wearing for work and it fits perfectly, too. She smiles at him, bright and kind, and Isaac feels nervous about smiling back because it's not enough of a thank you, not as much of one as she deserves. 

Erica and Boyd give him a joint gift of two video games he's played with Boyd before and a bag of Starbucks coffee mix. Isaac thinks that last part might be just to spite Derek, but he appreciates it all the same. He and Boyd make plans to break the games in tomorrow night and Erica ruffles his hair from where she's sitting atop the bar - "Erica."

He's just digging into his second - or maybe third - cupcake when Derek says, "I have a gift for you, too, but you're going to have to come outside."

Isaac, along with everyone else, raises his eyebrow. He licks a piece of frosting from his lips and sets down the cupcake, but Derek's already moving towards the front. "What?" Isaac ask, following Derek as he speaks. The others trail behind him when he follows Derek out the door, around the corner, towards the parking lot. Isaac keeps asking Derek if he's going to murder him or if it's that puppy he asked for when he was eight, but Derek just keeps this stupid half-smirk on his face the whole time. 

Derek finally stops walking when they reach the parking lot, in a space before a dark blue Toyota and he digs a hand in his pocket. When he pulls his hand out, he tosses a set of keys in Isaac's direction. Isaac catches them, just barely, but it seems that Erica and Lydia figure out what they mean before he does because they making little "ooh" sounds as he flips them over in his hand. 

"Derek… what -"

And then it sort of hits him at once and he's clicking the little unlock button on the keypad only to see the lights flicker on in that blue toyota. The laugh that comes out of his throat is totally, completely involuntary, but when he grins at Derek he sees something there that he's only seen once or twice. 

"You think I really like driving you to school every day?" Derek asks, but Isaac just keeps shaking his head, walking around the car half a dozen times before he finally surges forwards and pulls Derek into something of a hug. It's short and really just consists of Derek clapping his hand on Isaac's shoulder, but he doesn't miss the little "aw" from Erica a few feet back.

Isaac says, "Thank you," in a tone of total disbelief because seriously - _seriously_ \- what else can he say? 

He's on his maybe fifteenth circle around the car when Lydia says, "Oh, there's something else, too, though."

Isaac turns around, looking at Lydia in silent question, but as he does so, he notices that Boyd is gone. It's just as he realizes this, though, that Boyd comes around the side of the building beside the lot, grinning wide, and he has someone beside them. 

And that someone has a pair of achingly brown eyes and a smile that makes Isaac wish he were poetic. 

"Scott?" He asks and no more than two seconds later he's crossing the lot until he can kiss him, feel Scott's hand on his neck and his own arms around his waist. And when he pulls away, he's laughing from under his breath, glancing back to the others, who are all watching them with looks on their faces that hopefully balance out Isaac's total disbelief. He looks to Scott again only to see that smile spreading itself out like sunlight over the beach. 

"Happy birthday, Isaac," Scott says. Isaac kisses him again and again and again.

 

 

By December Isaac has been to Beacon Hills three times - once even for a lacrosse game to which he of course wore his favorite sweatshirt - and Scott has visited twice. Scott sends him pictures of the first Christmas decorations being put up around town and Isaac returns the favor with a picture of Boyd with a whipped cream beard. (Said picture may or may not be taken under the influence of Erica's "extra special" eggnog.)

Isaac buys a miniature Christmas tree to set on the living room table at the apartment, which makes Derek roll his eyes, but two days later, there's a few scattered ornaments hanging from it, so Isaac knows it's not a total loss. He also finds out that Derek has a mild candy cane addiction because when Isaac brings home a box from a holiday party in Pre-Calc, they're gone by the end of the week. Isaac buys him three more boxes. And another one as part of his Christmas present.

Boyd turns nineteen and Lydia gets accepted into Stanford on early decision. Isaac takes up studying for the SATs with Scott over video call, even though he's shit at English and usually just ends up trying to get Scott hot and bothered over Skype. Stiles sends a package full of Christmas gifts from everyone in Beacon Hills to everyone at the diner and Erica helps Isaac assemble one to send back. 

Isaac gets an A for the first semester of French and laughs when Derek sticks his report card up on the fridge. Erica and Boyd have a record-length fight that lasts two days. Lydia goes on a date with a man who may or may not be in his thirties. Scott buys a motorcycle. And a "For Sale" sign gets put up in Isaac's former front yard. 

(He wants to ask his dad where he's going, wants to know if it's because of a new job or because of Isaac. Something tells him it's not the latter. Why would his father care enough to uproot himself all because Isaac was living with Derek? Why would his father care about his well being in general? 

The sign does shake him, though, and he ends up having a silent dinner with Derek and a three hour conversation with Scott with a lot of "I miss you"s being held in.)

Scott visits the three days before Christmas Eve and Isaac makes plans to go up to Beacon Hills for New Years. 

When it's three days until Christmas, Isaac sits on the couch, his feet is Scott's lap, watching A Christmas Story and reveling in the way Scott's nose crinkles when he laughs. Scott catches him staring, but it only makes him smile, quirk his head to the side when he asks, "What?"

Isaac shrugs. He thinks about lights that run their path beneath the boardwalk and petitions to keep piers up, over the ocean and how sometimes the best things come into your life when you least expect them. 

He says, "I love you."

And Scott beams and presses his forehead to Isaac's. "I love you back," he whispers and he kisses Isaac as a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, oh my gosh I have so much to say - where do I even start? Being able to talk to all of you throughout this experience meant the world to me and I'm so glad you all offered such wonderful feedback. I wrote the first two chapters of this story under the impression that no one was going to be interested, or that people wouldn't view it positively and I'm just so incredibly grateful that you all saw what I saw and that's a story of love not only in the romantic way but also in the friends and family way and ugh just - I owe so much to all of you. I promise I'm working on a lot of other things right now so if you subscribe to me here or come talk to me on twitter or tumblr, then I'll keep you updated. Just. Ugh. Thank you so, so much. Thank you. Thank you. _Thank you_.
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/daneilsharman) | [tumblr](http://daneilsharman.tumblr.com) | [here and now inspiration](http://vivalacora.tumblr.com/tagged/han) | [here and now tag](http://daneilsharman.tumblr.com/tagged/here_and_now)


End file.
